Simple Pleasures: The Punk Chronicles
by gooseles
Summary: Short staffing forces WWE Digital Media exec and all around shy girl Cynthia McKenzie to take an assignment photographing sports entertainment's most controversial Superstar. What's the worst that could happen? 14 days of falling apart or falling in love?
1. An Unlucky Day

I sighed as I tapped my pencil against the desk. Glancing outside the window behind me, I caught a glimpse of the Connecticut sky growing dark as the last few weeks of what had been a brutal winter were coming to a close. I was the newest addition to the World Wrestling Entertainment's Digital Media department and with that promotion had come an office with a real view. Digital Media was the section of the corporate office that was in charge of mobile and broadband services, all the websites, and of course video syndication. The WWE was a global sensation and the Internet was its most lucrative marketing tool. I was just a Houston, Texas native who had started with the corporation only two years before as a low level web designer, one step up from an intern. My talent and hard work paid off and within my first 19 months of tenure, I had been promoted to a senior level position reporting directly to the Executive Vice President of Digital Media, Brian Kalinowski. It was a dream job, filled with multiple opportunities of all kinds and the paycheck wasn't bad either. Though my particular role kept me off camera and off the road, just being affiliated with the premiere sports entertainment promotion was more than enough for me.

"And how are we doing in London?" I asked directly into the speaker.

I waited with bated breath for an answer that seemed to take forever to come.

"…And we are up and running. Everything looks good to go."

I smiled and let out a small breath, thankful that all my prayers had been answered. A few hours before there had been a major and unexpected crash with the WWE web. None of the sites were running, which in a very short time had caused millions of dollars of loss in revenue of merchandise and ticket sales alike. The WWE brass was freaking out and the mini catastrophe was the first test in my burgeoning career. The task of fixing the problem and fixing it quickly had fallen right into my lap. After a day of nonstop international calls, troubleshooting and not a food of bathroom break in sight, finally all was right with the world. I had actually done it. Leaning back in the chair, I yawned but quickly shook off the signs of fatigue and finished up several projects that had accumulated on my desk. It was well after midnight when I was finally done. Grabbing my laptop and purse, I put on my winter skully cap and coat and headed out to the parking lot. The lone figure in the hallway startled me.

"Oh my God," I gasped, putting her hand over my heart.

"Cynthia, I apologize if I frightened you."

It was the boss.

"You did but it's okay, sir. I just didn't realize anyone else was still left in the building."

"I just spoke with Mr. McMahon. He has just spent the last few hours on the phone with the heads of several of the WWE global corporate offices. They are very pleased to see that the Internet glitch has been taken care of and much sooner than originally expected. We owe that all to you and I just wanted to say thanks and a job well done."

I, a closet bookworm and self-proclaimed nerd, blushed and looked away as I pushed my black framed DKNY glasses up on the bridge of my nose.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Kalinowski."

"It has been a long and hard day," he noted. "I see you were just leaving."

"Yes but if you need me…"

"Actually, I am glad I caught you. There is something I needed to speak to you about."

That was all I needed to hear. I turned on the lights and opened up the office again. I set down all my belongings and motioned for the boss to sit on the comfortable leather sofa, which he did. I took a seat behind the desk and folded my hands.

"What's going on?"

Brian frowned.

"A matter has come up…"

"What kind of matter?"

"Something involving the talent. Normally this kind of thing doesn't affect us here but it seems that Vince has made a decision that has put our department in a bind, so to speak."

"How can I help?"

"I am glad you asked. It is quite last minute, but Vince has requested that we do a piece on one of the wrestlers, something that can be used in a special edition magazine, perhaps at a later date. Right now it is just a photo shoot. As you know, Wrestlemania is three weeks away. For 14 days leading up to Wrestlemania week, Vince wants every waking moment and beyond of this guy's life captured on film."

"May I ask why? I mean, I certainly understand the basis for the project but normally we have more time and more notice. And to do this so close to the biggest week of the year for the company. I'm not complaining but…"

"I share your sentiments, believe me, but this is a special case. How can I put this? We're all human with flaws and faults…the WWE Superstars are no exceptions. They aren't heroes or super human even. They're just real people with real emotions. And one of them is not a happy camper right now. Feels, shall we say, neglected by the company. It's negotiation time and we want everything to go as smoothly as possible. I won't get into a whole spill about it. Yes, this is coming at a rather chaotic and hectic time and it will be a major pain in the butt, but in the end it will be worth it. The ends certainly justify the means, or at least they do in Vince McMahon's eyes. And he is the boss. He says it, we do it. Bottom line."

"Of course."

"The problem is, we're tapped for staff. I have been racking my brain, even looking at who we have available overseas. Everyone's schedule is so swamped right now but I am having real trouble finding a photographer to get the job done in the timeframe that was requested."

"Oh my."

"Any ideas?"

I exhaled.

"I, I don't know. Let's see. We have five people on assignment already. What about Meggan, the photo editor for WWE magazine?"

"She's tapped."

I chewed at my lip, a habit I often indulged in when I was nervous or just thinking really hard.

"We could always pull that Adam kid from the Tokyo headquarters…"

"That's not the most practical idea."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kalinowski. I'm all out of suggestions."

He looked around.

"It is somewhat impossible but I do remember you having some photography experience..."

I swallowed hard, feeling as big as ant in that expensive leather swivel chair.

"Yes sir. I, um, I had a portfolio and it is a hobby but it isn't something I have worked seriously on since college…"

"I have seen your work and like most everything you touch, it is brilliant."

"That's very kind of you…"

"I know you are busy here, Cynthia but I know I can trust you to handle this. You'll be on the road, traveling with the RAW brand and on the days off, you would be in Chicago…"

"Chicago?"

"Yes. That is where our little subject resides."

"Oh. I, I see. So the assignment requires tailing this person even on their off days?"

"I'm afraid so but I imagine there would be a lot of down time. With your laptop and Blackberry, I don't see why you can't take care of that and still handle your duties here in Stamford. Just consider it being on location, so to speak. It would almost be like a mini vacation."

I tried to force a smile. I was a homebody. I didn't need excitement or travel or big, bright lights. I loved the simple things in life. My interest in the WWE had stemmed from a sincere desire to work for an important corporation where my talents could be utilized and there would be plenty of room for advancement. I wanted something that would look stellar on a resume and it didn't get any better than WWE or the McMahon family name. But that was where my curiosity and attention stopped. I hardly ever watched the shows and had never been a big fan of sports entertainment. I of course knew who the wrestling characters were but I didn't follow the storylines or know any of the talent personally. That was all fine by me. And all of a sudden being asked to infiltrate a Superstar's private life with the ever invasive lens of a camera and follow this person even during their sacred off days seemed a little much.

"Sounds…great."

What else could I say? No? That wasn't even an option. That would be the kiss of death. That was the type of response that ended careers before they even started. There was no way I could turn down that assignment even as much as she wanted to.

"You say that now but I am going to level with you, Cynthia," Brian's face grew serious for a moment.

I swallowed hard. That for sure didn't sound good.

"Okay…"

"Some of the talent is what you call…difficult. Some are nice, professional, easy going, even tempered while others are, are…"

"The opposite?" I finished for him as he seemed to have trouble finding the right words to do so.

"Well, yes. Demanding, high strung, not so easy to deal with it. It happens. We are dealing with different personalities here."

"Yes…"

"I won't beat around the bush. This person is not exactly known for their sunny and upbeat personality."

"Who, who is it?"

I tried to think as several well-known names flashed in my mind. Randy Orton was famous for his mood swings and quick temper but rumor had it that marriage and fatherhood had calmed him down. Mark Henry was known for being gruff and hard to get along with but then again, it could have been one of the Divas. Kelly Kelly and Melina had notorious reputations for being bitches, among other titles. But it could have been anyone.

"Phillip Brooks, better known to the WWE Universe as CM Punk. You've heard of him?"

I nodded. I was familiar with faces and names, I just didn't follow their careers or watch them devotedly every Monday and Friday night.

"Yes. The Straight Edge guy with all the tattoos and the long dark hair."

"The hair is gone but you've got the gist of it. You will be accompanying Mr. Brooks."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan. Just tell me when and give me an itinerary and we'll be good to go."

Brian liked me a lot, I could tell. Still he sensed my trepidation and probably knew I was putting on a brave face.

"I will get that information for you."

"Thank you."

"You will be fine, Cynthia. Brooks is a little sarcastic and mouthy and he likes to be a hard ass sometimes, pardon my French. He can rub people the wrong way. It won't be so bad. Just handle yourself, stay professional and do your job. The two weeks will fly by before you even know it."

"I'm sure it will be fine, sir. I, I'm up to the challenge and you and Mr. McMahon will not be disappointed."

"I'm sure we won't. I knew I could count on you, Cynthia. Thank you and please let me know if you need anything. My secretary will have your travel arrangements ready for viewing by tomorrow afternoon. You leave in three days."

I nodded. And there it was. Within ten minutes my professional career and life had been turned upside down. Not only had I been given additional duties that I would have to balance with my other pile of responsibilities, Brian looked like he was giving me the kiss of death every time he mentioned Phil Brooks. That CM Punk must have been one hell of a character in real life as well. But what could I do? I was on assignment, apparently picked to tail WWE's most anti-social Superstar. It must have been my lucky day.


	2. Prelude To Madness

_**Author's Note: I will be incorporating some real life events into these chapters based on interviews old and new from CM Punk and records from his live journal. There will be some discrepancies as far as time, the resequencing of certain events, etc. Once again, I do not own anything but the original character Cynthia McKenzie. This story is for entertainment purposes only and not meant to infringe any copyrights or offend anyone.**_

The city was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and finally I had arrived. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped and prayed some miracle would happen and plans would change. Maybe someone else would become available for the assignment or maybe Vince McMahon would change his mind altogether. But as much as I waited with bated breath and crossed fingers, it was not a miracle that was delivered to me but instead a train ticket and printed e-mail itinerary. It was true so that meant I better get used to it. In preparation, I decided it best to study my subject. I started with the Internet and let Google and Wikipedia lead the way. I learned about his early career and that like most of the talent, wrestling was his life, stemming from a passionate boyhood dream. There was nothing else he had ever wanted to do and he had put everything into his molding his career. He was known as the King of the Indys and he had wrestled in dive bars, strip clubs, and had even slept in his car. I admired that when I read it. It definitely showed heart to want something that badly. Being a professional wrestling star and working for the WWE was a pipe dream at best. There was no safety of the 9 to 5, no education to fall back on if he failed. Just the thought scared me half to death but I guess that fear was just the type of thing that fueled and motivated guys like Phil Brooks. When your back was against the wall and failure was not an option, success was the only other alternative.

But being a great wrestler wasn't the only thing that CM Punk was known for. His reputation preceded him. He was known for not holding his tongue whether in the locker room or in a board meeting with the McMahon family. He was brash and aggressive, blunt and sarcastic. Just the thought was enough to unnerve me. But there was no backing out. I was stuck so I decided to focus on the actual job at hand. Looking at my subject on television, he looked kind of average. He was much smaller compared to a lot of the other guys and at times he looked tired, worn. Large bags loomed underneath his eyes, probably courtesy of the insane traveling schedule that I was not looking forward to. But when I looked at still photography of him, it was almost like looking at a different person. He photographed beautifully. His facial features were distinct and his eyes seemed to tell a story. And his smile, when he smiled, was beautiful.

I waited patiently but nervously backstage with my bags in tow. The Superstars and Divas milled about in what could only be described an insanely hectic and chaotic environment. They ignored me for the most part as I was one of the employees neatly tucked away in the comforts of Corporate in Connecticut. I had my official pass around my neck and apparently that was good enough for security. So I waited and waited as the show ended and finally I saw him. He looked a lot less threatening in person. He wore baggy jeans that sagged way past the beginning of his faded blue boxer shorts. He wore a hat and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over the hat. He recognized me immediately and came right over. I guess I stood out backstage like a sore thumb.

"Hi," I said, as I felt more nervous than I ever had. "I, I'm Cynthia. Cynthia McKenzie. I…"

"I know who you are," he dragged his bags behind him.

"Oh," I swallowed hard.

"You ready? You got everything?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"Well, let's rock and roll," he said, not bothering to even wait on me.

I followed him out of the private exit to the rental car. He popped the trunk and began loading his belongings into in and wordlessly grabbed mine as well. The weather was cold and I shoved my hands deep in my pockets. He walked around to the driver's side and opened the door and got in. I saw no one else coming with us so I assumed it was safe to climb in the passenger's seat. He turned the ignition and cranked up the heat for which I was grateful.

"Um, what should I call you?" I asked.

He gave me a strange look before finally answering.

"Punk is fine."

I nodded and adjusted in my seat. It was going to be a long ride to Maryland.

"So, um, we'll get a room in Baltimore for the house show and…"

"Not together."

"Excuse me?"

"The rooms are separate. Sorry to disappoint you, Toots."

His facial expression was as serious as anything I had ever seen before.

"No. Oh my God. That, that's not what I meant. I mean, I knew there would be separate rooms. I…"

He took his eyes off the road for a split second and smirked at me.

"It was a joke. Relax."

My heart pounded.

"Oh."

"This is the part, where you know, you laugh hysterically at my lame attempt at a joke in an effort to make up for that awkward little exchange we just had."

"Huh? Oh," I laughed nervously. "Another joke, huh?"

His face grew serious again.

"Nope."

"Oh," I said again flatly.

I swallowed hard. Screw the long ride, I had a feeling I was in for the longest two weeks of my life. I played with the seatbelt as we made our way down the dark Interstate. A few random flakes of snow had begun to fall and living up to his nickname, punk rock music blared from the radio. I was wired…wired from the train ride to Philly, wired due to anxiety about the new job and wired from the loud music. The man known as CM Punk was unusually quiet and I wondered what was on his mind. Was it something about the match he'd just had? Did it have to do with his recent meetings with Vince McMahon? Or was he just as worried about the next two weeks with me as I was? I didn't dare ask him, instead we rode in comfortable silence that was interrupted midway through the trip by flashing blue police lights in the background. I sat up and took notice. We weren't driving that much over the speed limit but for some reason, the cops were pulling us over.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled with obvious annoyance as the newer model Chevy Impala slowly pulled over to the shoulder.

I dared not say a word as a clean cut officer approached the driver's side of the car. He peered in with a flashlight that nearly blinded both of us.

"Good evening, folks," he chewed a piece of gum.

"Good evening, sir," I said politely.

Punk was quiet, only shooting him a look that could be described as pure defiance. I had a feeling things weren't going to go well.

"Do you know what I pulled you over for, sir?"

"Haven't the slightest," Punk shrugged casually.

"You were following too closely to the vehicle in front of you."

Punk and I looked at each other.

"Dude, are you serious?" Punk turned back towards the policeman.

"Quite. You were approximately one and a half vehicle lengths behind the car in front of you. Traffic laws state that you must be two lengths behind."

Punk laughed out loud.

"This can't be real. Seriously. Did Colt Cabana put you up to this?"

I had no idea who Colt Cabana was and judging by the look on the cop's face, neither did he.

"Do you have anything in the car in the way of weapons or drugs?"

"Nope."

"License and registration, please."

I opened the glove compartment and handed the registration over while Punk dug his driver's license out of the wallet of the back pocket of his jeans.

"Here you go, man."

"I'm going to go run all this," the officer told us.

"No worries," Punk said, half nonchalantly, half sarcastically.

The wait began.

"I'm sure it will be okay," I offered.

"It will but I'm starving and the only thing between me and some food right now is Officer McDouchebag."

I was too nervous to laugh. Instead I sat on my hands and waited and was surprised when another squad car pulled up.

"What in the world…"

Punk followed my gaze.

"Figures they'd need two cars for something like this," he rolled his eyes. "I can't believe this guy is gonna write me a ticket for something so stupid."

"Maybe he is just going to warn you. Maybe the other guy isn't even here for us."

The door opened and I saw the second officer go to the back and fiddle around for a few minutes before opening up the back door. A large German Shepherd climbed out and I sucked in a breath. My earlier suspicions were about to be confirmed. Things were about to get a lot worse.

"What the fuck?"

Punk's whole face changed when he was the K-9. Anger flashed in his eyes.

"Um, try to remain calm," I reassured him gently, pushing my glasses up on the bridge of my nose. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Fuck that! I don't…oh! Oh! You've got to be kidding me."

My heart raced as the policeman approached with the dog. Punk angrily rolled down the window and began yelling.

"Sir..."

"Are you ribbing me? Get that fucking dog away from my car!"

The officer did not respond. My eyes grew wide. I had never known anybody that talked to a cop like that.

"Punk," I whispered.

"Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? You fucking dick, get the fuck away from my car or I'll eat your dog!"

My mouth fell open. This was not happening, not my first night.

"Can I ask you to step out of the car?" the first cop returned.

"Absolutely not," Punk shook his head.

"Well, I need to explain this to you…"

"Do it with me in the car."

"Well, you can step out of the car."

"You know what? That's fine."

Punk angrily flung the door open and when he was out of the car, he was nearly a foot taller than the officer. He took a step back and I gulped, not knowing what was going to happen next. I was legitimately frightened but the ironic thing was the cop was too. He backed away from Punk and I could tell Punk knew he had him right where he wanted him. He took another step forward, then one more, nearly backing the poor guy right into traffic.

"Um, this is your warning."

"Great," Punk snatched the paper and began to walk away.

Then the other office stepped in.

"What do you want to tell us about what's in your car?"

Punk literally turned green.

"What?"

"Is there anything in the car you want to tell us about? I'll give you the chance to tell me the truth. Now where you and your friend here coming from?"

Punk raised his fists right in both their faces.

"What do my knuckles say?"

"Sir, why were you…"

Punk cut him off, fire in his eyes, anger dripping from his voice.

"What do my knuckles say?" he repeated louder.

"Drug free," the officer sheepishly mouthed.

"Exactly, so I am a little offended about the dog right now."

The two officers looked at each other and decided it was probably more trouble than it was worth.

"You two have a good night."

"Go fuck yourself," Punk spat as he climbed back in the car.

He got inside and we pulled off and continued on our merry way like nothing had happened. I could tell he was still seething.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

"I'm just swell," he kept looking straight ahead. "You?"

I exhaled.

"Better now. I, I thought you were going to jail for sure."

He was quiet, never saying a word as we continued our journey. I didn't know what else to say. I had heard and read that Phil Brooks was a complex man but none of that had prepared me for the reality of the situation. It was going to be an eventful two weeks for sure.


	3. Day I

The alarm clock went off at 7 a.m. on the dot and I sat up instantly, running my fingers through my hair. Like every morning, I reached onto the nightstand for my glasses. The lenses focused to my eyes, putting the scene around me into instant perspective. I was in a hotel in Baltimore, Maryland far from the familiarity of my own cozy little apartment back in Connecticut. The sheets were soft and comfortable, the bed plush and way too large for just me. It was a nice hotel, the digs that the WWE had the talent stay in to sort of mitigate the long hours spent away from home. I yawned and looked around. For the next two weeks, it would be traveling from city to city, seeing life through the windows of an airplane or a rental car. And when I wasn't on the road my new home would be in Chicago with my subject, the man that was to be my muse for 14 days.

He was known as CM Punk to most and Phillip Jack Brooks to a select few. I didn't know who I was going to get to know. In order to figure out what I was getting myself into, I logged even more long hours on the laptop in an effort to find out as much as I could about the man behind the Straight Edge lifestyle. His reputation had preceded him back at the Corporate offices and our first meeting the night before had left me even more confused. He was aloof and quiet, intense and complex. His sense of humor was hard to understand and I had seen his temper spiral quickly out of control. The incident with the police had left me more than a little rattled and I'd had a fitful few hours of sleep. I grabbed my work bag and decided I would fiddle with my camera after breakfast. I wanted to warm up with some test shots before the real thing. My heart pounded as I pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a matching hoodie. I pulled my hair up and headed downstairs, bag in tow, for some food. My stomach rumbled in the elevator. When the double doors opened, I was directly across from the hotel's main restaurant. The sweet aroma of food greeted me. Starving, I grabbed a plate, piling it with eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns, and sausage. I topped it off with a bowl of fruit and some oatmeal. Orange juice would be the perfect finisher.

"A lot of carbs there, Chief."

I jumped at the person talking to me. I looked up and standing there was Punk. He wore oversized sweat pants and sneakers, a tee shirt that was covered by a hoodie that covered his head.

"Hi," I stammered.

I wasn't prepared to run into him and for some reason that annoyed me. I felt nervous and embarrassed, unkempt and seriously wishing that he hadn't just caught me scarfing down that whole plate. He sat down beside me without waiting to be invited. He had a banana, a bottle of water and a large bowl of whole grain cereal.

"So," he began after a few bites and some uncomfortable silence. "How's it going?"

I shrugged nervously.

"Good, I guess. I, um, wanted to get some food before the day started. Sorry I didn't get with you last night about the schedule for today."

"It's cool. I just hit the gym, then I'm gonna go back to the room and shower. I'll probably read comics or just fuck around and watch TV until it's time to hit the arena. We have to be there before two."

It seemed like an oddly simple itinerary. I was surprised.

"Is that all?" I thought before I spoke, recoiling immediately when it looked like his jaw line tensed up. "I mean…"

He let out a sarcastic chuckle before downing another spoonful of cereal.

"You mean, you thought the life of a WWE Superstar would be more exciting?"

"Well yeah but…"

"Usually it is but I'm not complaining. The travel schedule can be a bit of a burnout sometimes. It's nice to have down time every now and then."

"You don't have any media to do?" I inquired.

Working at Corporate I knew that making the media rounds was a very important part of the job for all the on air talent. Vince McMahon was all about getting his brand's name out there in the mainstream. It was a constant marketing ploy and the wrestlers and Divas were his biggest salesmen.

"Not today. Haven't done that in a while actually," he furrowed his brow. "Anyway, these days they leave that up to the John Cenas and the Randy Ortons and the other poster boys for Vinnie Mac's dog and pony show."

The bitter tone in his voice was not lost.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

It was none of my business. I was there to take pictures, not interview him. But it seemed to be a very real moment in his life. I was just trying to get another glimpse at the real CM Punk. He seemed taken aback that I asked the question but he leaned back in the seat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. I could tell this was a story he was eager to share but before we could get started, someone walked by the table. Instantly Punk's attention diverted. His eyes followed the figure with intent interest as it came to a stop at our table.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

His voice took a slightly softer tone.

"I sent you a text this morning," she shifted her weight, arms slightly folded.

"Yeah, I, um, I was gonna get you back but things got busy. You know how it is."

It sounded like a lame excuse and judging by the frown on the woman's face, she felt the same way. At the same time, he kept it cool, casual and aloof, making no apologies for anything.

"It's fine. I'm meeting up with Nattie anyway. I didn't mean to interrupt," she looked over at me for the first time.

I instantly looked away, refusing to meet the woman's gaze and suddenly wishing that I had put forth a little more effort into my more than relaxed appearance. Suddenly the tie on the waist band of my pants was the most important thing in the world.

"Where are my manners?" Punk smirked. "Cynthia, this is Beth Kocanski, better known as the Glamazon Beth Phoenix. And Beth, this is Cynthia McKenzie, the product of John Laurinaitis' brain child here to pacify me and give me what he thinks I want so he can schmooze me into signing another contract in a few months."

He rolled his eyes and I sat there, quiet, with a rather dumb expression on my face. Right away I knew there was more to the story and that it was probably tied in to what he was about to tell me before Beth had walked up. There were pieces all over the place that obviously went to a bigger puzzle, including the part Brian Kalinowski had told me about the Punk assignment being a special case, Vince's way of making negotiations run smoother.

"Hi," I said in a voice that came out barely above a whisper.

I extended my hand and she looked at it like she didn't want to shake it but summoning her manners and perhaps everything she had learned in PR classes, she eventually took it.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"Likewise."

Beth turned her attention back to Punk.

"You got a minute?"

Punk slid his chair back and stood, grinning.

"Anything for you, Cuddly Bear."

She rolled her eyes, not amused as he followed her to the opposite side of the restaurant. Being tucked away in Stamford kept me away from most of the active roster. I knew who Beth Phoenix was, of course. On television and in print, she was larger than life literally. She was intimidating, known for her massive physique and almost masculine features but in person it was almost the opposite. Her long blonde hair was combed back and she wore a simple black hat over it. She wore no makeup and was dressed casually but she was absolutely stunningly gorgeous. Working so closely and traveling together so often had a way of formulating friendships between the wrestlers but there was a weird chemistry between Punk and Beth that I sensed right away. I got the feeling they were more than just friends. As I watched them across the room, the looks and not so subtle body language only further confirmed my suspicions. They talked for a few more minutes before she walked off and eventually he returned to our table, hands shoved deeply in the side pockets of his hoodie.

"She was…nice," I offered.

Punk laughed.

"That she is. Beth, she's uh, she's one in a million."

"Is she your…"

He quickly cut me off.

"It's complicated but that's not important."

He said it wasn't important but I knew he was lying, maybe more so to himself than to me. There was something different about his eyes. They were brighter, softer.

"May I?"

"What?" he asked.

My artistic intuition kicked in. Photographers often had that moment where they knew they had a special shot and couldn't miss it. For some reason, everything inside of me was screaming that this was my moment. I reached inside my bag and pulled out the camera, fumbling to get it ready for picture taking.

"I just want to take a couple of shots."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Here?" he looked around.

I shrugged innocently.

"Why not?"

"Seems kind of lame but whatever, I guess. You're the professional," he conceded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Just act natural. Relax your face. Don't look at me," I began with a series of instructions. "Think about…think about how you feel in the moment, maybe the conversation you just had."

I saw that look in his eyes again and I knew I had my shot. I began snapping away.

"We done here?" he asked when I finally stopped.

I nodded and began putting the equipment away.

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm gonna head back to the room."

I stood and followed him to the elevators. We got on in silence as I tapped my foot. It was taking that thing forever to reach our floor.

"Who are you wrestling tonight?" I asked.

"No one. Just walking out with the New Nexus but I'm gonna intefre in Orton's match, teasing the big upcoming feud. Tomorrow's RAW is supposedly the night that's gonna lead to Wrestlemania."

"How so?" I asked.

"CM Punk versus Randy Orton. We're supposed to steal the show in Atlanta this year."

"Wow. That's a big deal. You must be excited."

He shot me a less than excited look.

"Working with young Randal, one of the great joys in my life."

Judging by that sarcastic statement, I knew there was another story as well. Finally the elevator stopped. I reached inside my case and began adjusting the camera as Punk walked a few doors down to his own room. I turned as he was messing with the key card whose magnetic strip had seen better days. He removed his hood and I knew for the second time that morning that I had another "can't miss" photo op moment. I couldn't resist as I took one last picture. He frowned as he finally got the door open.

"Sorry…" I stammered.

"Meet me downstairs at one and by the way, you're a total weirdo," he said before disappearing into his room and letting the door close behind him.

It was a quiet Sunday before a house show. I'd had another glimpse, one of many, into the life of CM Punk and of a WWE Superstar. I knew I was nowhere closer to knowing who the real Punk was. There were many chapters ahead in a story just waiting to be told.


	4. Day II

My heart pounded as I sat backstage at Monday Night RAW. That and Smackdown were the premiere weekly events for our brand. I worked hard in the Digital Media department and as a result, that had been my primary focus. I had almost forgotten about why we had jobs in the first place. Plain and simple, it was all about the talent. They were the draws, the main attraction, the reason the WWE Universe existed. Watching the matches live brought about an energy and excitement I hadn't felt in a long time. The fans were loud and the scene backstage was nothing short of surreal. In a little folding chair, I listened as Voices, the theme song of Randy Orton filled the arena. It was the last match of the night and he was facing Rey Mysterio. Orton and CM Punk had been involved in a bitter feud that was leading up to an explosive ending in Atlanta at Wrestlemania. Punk was not to be directly involved in Randy's match that evening but he had a spot planned at the end. Randy Orton walked past me, through the Gorilla and down the ramp looking like a sculpted Greek god. I knew it was all kayfabe but it was something about that atmosphere that sucked me in with the rest of the crowd. Through these sports entertainers, our Corporate Creative and Writing team were telling a story and what a magical story it was.

The latest storyline had CM Punk as the ruthless and maniacal leader of the New Nexus. His character was cult like, complete with the wide eyed craziness of someone like Charles Manson. I watched the match in the ring between the two Superstars and just when Orton was in that infamous zone, there was an interruption. All eyes fell upon the Titantron as it was set to the parking lot, the private entrance in the back where the employees used and where the buses parked.

"Hello Randal," waved CM Punk with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "How you doin', Randal Keith Orton? You know, you're right…I don't know what sick and twisted is. But I do know that's a really nice bus. And I can't wait to meet your wife."

CM Punk was standing in front of Randy's tour bus and after flashing a devious smile at the camera, he walked inside. Taking the bait, an infuriated Orton ran from the ring all the way to the parking lot, of course walking into the waiting trap of an ambush from Punk. The brutal assault began and Randy Orton sank to the ground as the doors of the bus opened and a pretty woman with long dark hair came out screaming dramatically. Punk mocked her and told her to shut up. Awkwardly, she scurried back inside. I had to snicker. He was a funny guy sometimes. It was obvious that CM Punk was just an exaggerated extension of Phil Brooks.

"I bet right about now those voices you hear in your head are telling you that you shouldn't have kicked McGillicutty or Otunga or Mason Ryan. I don't think you'll be punting anybody in the skull at Wrestlemania. Now ain't that a kick in the head?" he finished with a quick boot to Orton's skull.

The segment ended with Punk blowing a creepy kiss to Mrs. Orton. The cameras cut and I blew out a breath as a few minutes later, Punk, still donned in his wrestling garb marched over to where I was waiting.

"Hey," I stood, clearing my throat.

He reached for a towel and wiped off, not even bothering to look at me.

"You got all your stuff ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Everything is in the car."

"Good, I'm gonna hit the showers and then we'll head to the airport. Hopefully we can get an earlier flight back to Chicago."

"If we're lucky, we can get on the stand by list," I suggested.

"Luck, my dear, is for losers," he proclaimed as he removed his shirt, revealing his tattooed torso.

"Oh," I said flatly, staring at his body without really meaning to.

"See something you like?"

"What?" I asked horrified, stumbling all over that one word.

Punk just smirked.

"You're staring at me like I'm a pork chop and you haven't eaten in weeks. Flattering, I suppose. Flattering but intensely creepy."

"I, I, I didn't mean to stare. It, it's not that…"

"Don't get your panties all in a bunch, I'm just yanking your chain. You know, you really need to lighten up."

"I…"

He frowned as he looked over at me.

"I'm gonna hit the showers so don't be a stalker. A little privacy please."

"Oh," I repeated, hoping, assuming that was just another yank of my chain.

I waited outside the locker room and a half hour later, he emerged in apparently what was his favorite off duty attire of baggy jeans and a hoodie over his hat. Silently I followed him out to the car. We got in and he drove and minutes later we were at the airport. We unloaded our things and headed to the ticket counter. There weren't many people at the booth and if anyone recognized him, no one acknowledged his presence. I stood wordlessly behind him for a while but as his negotiations with the agent grew more in depth, I stepped out of line and took a seat on the floor against the wall. I was struck at that moment by how different he looked from his lunatic of a wrestling caricature. I was still feeling him out, still getting to know him. What would happen if we didn't get the flight he wanted? Would he have another meltdown like the one I witnessed with the cops that first night? I was curious but he kept his calm and judging by their body language, he and the agent seemed to be getting on just fine. I even saw a hint of a smile. As he stood, tapping his ID against the table, I reached for my camera. I pretended to be adjusting the lens but making sure the flash was off, I snapped a few pictures of him. It was always a good idea to take photos when people weren't aware. Punk was one of those who was just natural. He didn't need to be posed. Besides, I had no idea what the rules were when it came to taking photographs in an airport. The last thing I needed was for TSA to come out and make a big scene and confiscate my camera or worse.

"Cynthia," he called me by name. "You ready?"

"Sure," I reached for my driver's license yet again.

I quickly put the camera away and stood, joining him. We got booked on a flight that was scheduled to take off in three hours. We checked our bags, then cleared security, heading for the terminal. There was a restaurant that was open and nearly empty.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Nah," I lied, unsure of why I was doing so in the first place.

But the loud rumbling of my stomach brought a wash of embarrassed crimson to my face and a hint of amusement to his.

"That's attractive," he raised an eyebrow.

"I…"

"Come on," he rolled his eyes.

The hostess seated us in a booth and took our drink orders. My mouth was incredibly dry and I was craving ice cold water with lemon. He ordered Pepsi.

"So," I began, desperate for conversation. "You like Pepsi, huh?"

"Nectar of the gods," he took another swallow. "So how is the whole picture taking thing coming along?"

"Good," I answered. "You're a good subject. I mean, you photograph well."

"I don't know about all that," he gave a genuinely shy look. "Besides, it's kind of weird. I knew I'd have someone following me around all the time taking lots of random pictures but it's still kind of strange just how random. I'm trying to get us a flight and you're playing paparazzo over in the corner."

I made a face.

"Wait. How, how did you know?"

He shrugged.

"I just did. I'm not stupid, you know. It's a wonder airport security didn't come and haul your ass away."

My eyes widened.

"Could I have gotten us in trouble?"

He glanced down at the menu.

"I don't know. Maybe. But you should have thought about that before you did it, right?"

I took it as more of a rhetorical question.

"So tonight was fun," I changed the subject, pushing my glasses back up on my face.

"Just another day at the office," he rolled his eyes.

"Was that really Randy Orton's wife?" I asked.

"Nope. Just another dumb model broad who couldn't act. Randal has this thing about 'protecting' his family," he used his fingers to make quotations for emphasis. "But it's a bunch of hypocritical bullshit if you ask me. His wife and daughter's pictures are all over the Internet and he posted half of them. This is an all or nothing kind of business, you can't have it both ways cause it doesn't work that way. You can't put that personal element out there when it works for you and then when you decide the public is taking too much, want to clam up and shut it off."

I played with my straw.

"But what about you and the fans?" I asked.

"What about us?"

"I know, I mean, I read that you don't like being asked for autographs, especially at airports. Isn't it sort of the same thing? You're famous. You chose to work for the WWE. Fans are going to recognize you and in turn they will want a piece of you. You put yourself out there. Don't you owe them something?"

The words just tumbled out of my mouth. I didn't know how he would react but a thoughtful look crossed his face.

"To an extent," he answered after careful thought. "Don't get me wrong…and don't believe everything you read in the dirt sheets. I don't hate the fans. I actually care about them. I appreciate the loyalty, the money they spend to see us. Hell, I was a fan first and I will always be a fan of professional wrestling at heart. I give back all the time. I do the appearances and the media. I've had to give up my days off to do that kind of stuff when the other so called top guys in the company refused to get off their spoiled asses to do it. I did it without complaint too. It is what it is. I get fans are excited to meet me. Most of the time I am excited to see them but not when it's six in the morning, not when I'm legitimately hurt after wrestling for 30 straight minutes, not when I just missed my flight home or when I am on the phone arguing with my girlfriend."

I nodded. Girlfriend?

"That makes sense."

The waitress came back and we ordered.

"So," he leaned back in the booth. "What's your story?"

"I, I don't have much of one," I admitted. "I'm 28, I'm originally from Minnesota, now I live in Connecticut. I've been with the WWE about a year and a half."

"Sounds…boring."

"Simple," I chuckled.

"Simple is good," he agreed. "So you ever been to Chicago?"

I shook my head.

"No."

"Well, you're in for a treat. I love that city. It is the greatest place on earth."

He said it like he truly meant it.

"Where do you live?"

"I just bought a loft in the Wicker Park area. It's pretty cool. My friends are there, my family is there. I walk around and nobody hounds me. I go to my favorite restaurants and comic book stores. I ride my bike. What else do you need? It's a pretty rad existence."

For me it would be interesting seeing more of Phil's world. I had gotten a deeper glance into Punk's life with the travel and the glitz and the fans. Something told me Chicago would be a whole other story. His phone then buzzed and he dug it out of one of his pockets. Bringing the T-Mobile Sidekick to his eyes, he read what I presumed was a text message. He furrowed his brow and his eyes twinkled as he texted back, the tattooed letters that spelled DRUG FREE clearly visible on his fingers. It was another opportunity so I pulled out the camera and started snapping away. He was too engrossed in what he was doing to be annoyed with me and I wondered who was the recipient/sender of those messages. Who could captivate Phil Brooks' attention? Beth maybe? I could only wonder but soon I would find out I sighed as I captured his private moments through my lens.


	5. Day III

I stirred in sleep, my eyes slowly fluttering open. The room was pitch black but I had a feeling it was much later. I stood and climbed out of bed, muttering a curse word or two as I accidentally stubbed my toe stumbling on the way to the window. I opened the shades and winced as daybreak greeted me square in the face. I looked back at the bed I had slept in. The room was nice, a decent size but pretty much lacking the fancy decorations of the hotels I was becoming accustomed to. It was March, which meant the Windy City was living up to its name. The room was warm and comfortable but I remembered how chilly it had been when we had arrived in Chicago late the night before. I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. It had been a blur. I had brought my things up and Punk had directed me to the guest room. I was asleep as soon as my head had hit the pillow.

Wearing blue flannel pajama bottoms and a grey tee shirt, I yawned and stretched as my bare feet tipped quietly to the door. I opened it and listened for sounds, to see if my host was awake. Sure enough I heard muffled voices, one of them I recognized as belonging to Punk. Suddenly I felt nervous, embarrassed even. I had no idea what time it was but I knew I couldn't hide out in his guest room all day long. The traveling and especially being around a character so complex as Phil Brooks aka CM Punk was all new to me. He had company and it made me shy to just go waltzing out like I belonged there. What if it was Beth? But eventually that first morning pee urge hit me like a ton of bricks and when I could hold it no longer, I crept out into the hallway looking for a bathroom.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Punk greeted me as he rounded the corner at the same time.

"Hi," I shifted my weight.

He looked me over and smirked.

"Bathroom is that way," he pointed down the hall.

I scurried past him and relieved myself, exiting the room a few minutes later. I headed towards the kitchen where he was. He was pouring some soy milk into a large bowl of granola and chopped bananas. Sitting at the table with his jean clad legs propped up on another chair, was a man I did not recognize. He was muscular with short hair and he was engrossed in a newspaper.

"Hi," I cleared my throat.

"Hey," Punk stared at me. "Help yourself to anything you want in here."

"Thanks," I said, hesitating before approaching the fridge.

There was a carton of eggs and some veggies so I pulled everything out and poured myself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

"Cynthia, this is Scotty Colton. Scott, this is Cynthia McKenzie. She is part of Vince's newest plan to speed up my contract negotiations," he rolled his eyes.

The other man looked up and gave me a warm and friendly smile.

"Nice to meet you, Cynthia," he extended his hand that I shook.

"Likewise."

I got out the skillet and other utensils and supplies needed to make an omelet. My back was turned to the two men but I couldn't escape the feeling that I was being watched by at least one of them.

"She ain't an ice cream bar with your face on it but hey, your own personal paparazzi? Not bad, friend. Vince is pulling out all the stops," Scott grinned.

"Yeah and I've got that son of a bitch's number," Punk grumbled, taking a big bite of his cereal.

"Well welcome to Chicago, Cynthia. You live up in Stamford?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"How long you been with the company?"

"A little over a year and a half. I, um, I work in the Digital Media department at the Corporate office."

"Maybe you remember me," he grinned proudly.

I studied his face for a few seconds but nothing came to mind.

"Sorry…"

"He gets that a lot," Punk ribbed him, much to his dismay.

"Colt Cabana. I was with the company…briefly."

"Oh," I said. "Do you still wrestle?"

"Always. Can't see myself doing anything else."

"Is that where you two met?"

"Oh no," Scott gave a chuckle. "Me and this fool go way back before the WWE was even a possibility for either of us. We met many moons ago down in St. Paul working in Steel Domain Wrestling. Did a lot of sweet ass gigs in the Indys. Been best friends ever since. This is a good man over here. He's had my back through a lot."

Punk frowned.

"Can you paint a cuter picture? The only thing missing is us holding hands and skipping from the ring after our matches."

"You wish," Scott quipped. "Anyway, Cynthia, how long you gonna be hanging out?"

"14 days. It's a two week assignment leading up to Wrestlemania. I'm basically just taking pictures, trying to capture Punk in both his personal and professional life."

"Just curious, what are they gonna do with the pictures?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know. They didn't really tell me. I mean, there was talk of a possible special edition magazine but you never know. That was just talk."

Scott picked up the paper again.

"Looks like you're well on your way, man. Personal photographer today, CM Punk, the movie tomorrow."

"It's gonna take a whole hell of a lot more than that to get me to re-sign. If Vinnie Mac wants to play hardball, I'll humor him but my mind is pretty much made up. I'm tired of the bullshit."

I kept my attention on my omelet. My boss, Brian Kalinowski, had warned me that this was a special case but I had been spared the details. Based on the urgency and the involvement and push from Vince himself, it didn't take a brain surgeon to know that something was up. I'd had the sense from the beginning that I was there or the pictures were being taken to pacify Punk in some way. Now hearing spatterings of a conversation that he was having second thoughts about re-signing his contract, things were starting to come together.

"Damn girl, that sure smells good over there," Scott sniffed.

Lucky for him I had made enough to share.

"Would you like some?" I politely asked.

Scott rubbed his hands together.

"Don't mind if I do. At least somebody around here knows how to treat a visitor," he dug at his best friend.

Punk made a face and kept on eating.

"Visitor my ass. Dude, you're here more than I am."

We ate in relative silence and soon after devouring his plate, Scott put it in the sink and grabbed his keys.

"Hate to eat and run but I've got to get going. Don't know if I'll see you before you head back on the road cause I've got a JCW show tomorrow night."

Punk stood and the two men slapped hands.

"Sounds good, man. I'll give you a shout later tonight. Thanks for coming by."

"Cynthia, it was great meeting you and thanks again for the breakfast. It was delicious. Compliments to the chef."

"Thank you, Scott," I smiled. "It was nice meeting you, too."

Punk walked him to the front door and I went to take another yummy bite of my food but nearly choked on it when I felt something brush against my ankle. I let out a yelp just as Punk was heading back my way. He glanced down and smiled, bending over. When he stood, he had something tiny in his hands. I saw a hint of black and white paws before hearing the unmistakable purring of a kitten.

"Ah, I see you've become acquainted with Pepsi."

I grinned and stood, walking over to him and petting the small creature.

"He's so little," I noticed, frowning as I saw fur and bone.

"Yeah. I'm working on trying to fatten him up. He's a stray. I rescued him a few weeks ago. Came home from a road trip and it was fucking freezing outside and I see this little guy shivering by the door trying to get warm. I walked over to him and he meowed and I was putty in his paws after that. He's been with me ever since. Scotty looks in on him when I'm gone."

I raised an eyebrow. CM Punk, the overly sarcastic, controversial, tough talking, temperamental wrestler was not the type of guy I'd expect to rescue starving kittens.

"Really?"

"I do have a heart, you know."

"I didn't say that," I giggled. "He's a cutie. Nice name, by the way."

Punk put the kitten back on the floor and he ran back towards the living room.

"So, did you get some sleep last night?"

"I did. The room is very comfortable, thanks. You?"

"Nah."

"You didn't sleep at all?" I asked.

He shrugged it off.

"I'm a bit of an insomniac. Most days I get by on three or four hours. It's really hard for me to sleep at night. I usually drift off around four or five but last night for some reason I was kind of wired."

"What did you do all night?"

"Read, watched some TV, fucked around on Twitter."

"Wow."

"Anyway. I was thinking about hitting the gym this morning but for now I'm probably just gonna go run. Then I'll come back and crash. You should be cool while I'm gone. I mean, if you need anything…"

"No. Um, I'm good. I'm gonna shower, then I need to do some work on my laptop, you know, check in with WWE Global and all."

He nodded.

"When I'm out running, don't be jumping out from behind street signs with the camera trying the old sneak attack," he kidded. "I won't be amused."

I smiled at him.

"No pictures this morning, I promise. Maybe later."

"Sounds good to me."

"Is it true?" I started to blurt out.

"What's that?"

"I, I couldn't help but hear what you and Scott were talking about, you know, with your contract and all."

"It's no big deal," he quickly dismissed it. "It is what it is. You're here to do a job and I'm going to let you do it. If they want to plaster my pictures in some special edition mag and I can pocket some extra change from it in the process, whatever but this runs deep, a lot deeper than a magazine or my own DVD and Vince damn well knows that. Anyway, I don't feel like getting into it right now. Long story."

"Okay, um, I guess I'll see you when you get back then."

"Yeah. I'll probably crash for a bit but I'll be around. Towels and wash cloths and stuff are in the linen closet in the hall."

With that, he disappeared. I heard him go in the back, then the front door opened, shut and locked. Letting out a deep breath, I rinsed all the breakfast dishes before loading up the dishwasher. From my short two days on the road I had already been able to see that Punk was great at what he did. In the ring he was technically sound and on the mic he was brilliant. His character was one of pro wrestling's most hated villains. Obviously he was a valuable asset to the company, hence all the last minute hoops Vince McMahon was going through in order to smooth over Punk's impending contract negotiations. It only added more depth to the story. I was intrigued but there would be more time for that. For now, I was a part of Punk's private life and entry into that guarded world had limited access. Just as slowly as the layers of the man began to unravel and reveal a loyal friend and a big hearted animal lover, the complexity and mystery still remained. I had 11 more days on this impromptu assignment and I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get to know the real Phil Brooks.


	6. Day IV

I had spent the day getting some good shots of Punk. It was his second day off and we were still in Chicago. During that time I had gotten to see him with friends, some of them people he had been hanging out with for ten plus years, people who had been with him before all the fame and money. I had seen the many sides that made up Phil Brooks and CM Punk. To me the two men were one in the same, each an extension of the other. He was brash and blunt, funny yet serious, shy but still boisterous. And I was the one capturing all sides of him. He had been lounging around barefoot in just his boxers and Nike workout shorts. He was covered in tattoos and piercings as well and there was something oddly attractive or at least intriguing as I watched him put in his nipple rings. He spent a lot of time texting, reading comic books, watching random shows on TV and playing with Pepsi. Being alone with him in his loft, someone who was still a stranger yet I was being hired to intrude on his personal life. It left me nervous and feeling awkward but at times very comfortable in his presence.

"So…" he began as he absently played with a red yo-yo.

"So…"

"What do you do for fun?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I mean, I work a lot, I guess I don't get a lot of spare time."

"Occupational hazard," he played with the string. "I mean, I work a lot too but you've got to do something for fun. Hang out with your friends, watch or play sports, shop, talk on the phone or whatever the hell girls do."

"I don't know," I looked away. "Most of my friends are back in Minnesota and right now it's so demanding with the new promotion."

He was draped across his couch and I was sitting Indian style on the floor as we listened to randomly selected songs that were his favorites. I was diving head first into his private world and I sensed at times that he was also trying to steal a glimpse into mine. Whether or not it was a tit for tat thing or if he was genuinely interested, I couldn't quite figure out but I did know those times alone when his hazel eyes bore a hole in me, it felt like there was no air in the room between my heart mysteriously pounding and my stomach churning with butterflies.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked out of the blue.

"Excuse me?"

"Do I make you nervous? I just ask cause sometimes you're totally cool and at other times you're fidgety and you don't look me in the eye. Just seems like you're uncomfortable."

"I'm okay," I swallowed hard.

"You are a guest in my home and I suppose it is my duty to entertain you," he raised his eyebrows.

"You don't have to entertain me. I'm okay."

"Good because this is pretty much it. I'm a simple guy. I like my house, I like hanging out with my friends, I like comic books and graphic novels and cool music. I like baseball and bikes, you know the simple pleasures of life."

"Simple is good."

"I'm a simple kind of guy. After a long road trip, especially if I'm pissed off when I come home, lounging here, putting on some tunes, messing with the yo-yo and screwing around with Pepsi kind of keeps my head right."

I pulled my bare feet closer to my body.

"What makes you come home pissed off?" I asked.

Punk shrugged.

"Bratty kids kicking the shit out of the back of my seat on a four hour plane ride. Bad drivers that talk and text on their cell phones. People who order low fat or nonfat anything from Starbucks then request whipped cream on top…that really grates my goat and my little sister, Shalene, does this all the time and it fucking drives me nuts. Oh. And ass backwards bullshit decisions from John Laurinaitis and Vince McMahon that are literally fucking up the future of pro wrestling. That pretty much gets me every week."

"Wow," I sighed, chewing at my lip. "So what's your favorite song?"

"Impossible to pinpoint," he answered right away. "There is a lot of great stuff out there but this is definitely in my top five."

He pointed the remote at the stereo system and turned up the volume. A song began to play with a funky beat and lyrics that just made you want to dance.

"I feel like I know that song. Is it Lenny Kravitz?" I asked.

He shot me a look that made me feel like the dumbest person on the planet.

"Lenny Kravitz, are you fucking kidding me? Not to take anything away from him because he is pretty rad but to answer your ridiculous question, no. That's Living Colour and the song is Cult Of Personality."

"Oh," I said meekly.

"It's from the 80's. I liked them a lot as a band and I just remember this song playing all the time when I was on my Little League baseball team."

"You played Little League?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep. It was just a cool song, still is."

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's pretty great."

"I've got an idea."

I didn't like the sound of that.

"What?"

"Get dressed. Nothing frilly or spectacular and meet me back here in ten minutes."

He got up and headed to his bedroom and with a nervous breath, I followed suit to the guest room. I put on skinny jeans, boots, a long sleeved yellow shirt and a black vest. It was cold outside so I pulled up my hair, put on my glasses and a jacket. On the way out of the room, I found myself wanting to check my reflection once more. I didn't have any makeup on and suddenly I felt very plain and insecure. Before I could do anything about it, I heard Punk bellowing my name from the hallway.

"I'm ready," I said as I joined him.

He looked me up and down.

"Ready to ride some bikes?"

I frowned. I had never been on the back of a motorcycle before much less driven one.

"Punk, I don't know…"

"Come on," he basically ignored me.

We walked out of the building to the downstairs garage where Punk's Land Rover was parked. He walked past it and I scoured the area looking for motorcycles but I found none. Finally he pointed to a rack of bicycles.

"Is this…"

"Top of the line DeRosas. I just bought two of them after my old one got jacked a few months ago. I had these babies custom built and when they finally got delivered, they were so gorgeous I nearly busted a nut in my pants," he proudly proclaimed.

"Wow," I tugged at my lip. "You must really like bikes."

"Are you kidding me? I am in love. These are my babies and I don't do this with just anybody so consider yourself lucky," he handed me a helmet.

"Where, um, what are we doing? Where exactly are we going?"

"To ride through the streets in the best city in the world at sunset. I want to show you something that's pretty cool."

"Uh…" I hesitated.

Punk frowned.

"What's your deal? It'll be fun."

"I know but…"

"What?" he smirked. "You act like you never rode a bike before."

I looked away embarrassed, kicking at the concrete underneath my foot as he pulled his beanie over his head.

"I, um…I, I never learned. I mean, I tried a couple times but I guess it never caught on."

Punk laughed out loud.

"Are you for real?"

"Yeah."

"You've never ridden a bike?"

"No, not really."

"Are you serious? How long have you been an American?" he joked.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"It's all good," he mounted the bike and looked at me. "What are you waiting for? Put on your helmet."

"But I told you I've never ridden a bike before."

"Then no time like the present," he shrugged.

"But these bikes are new and expensive. I don't want to mess it up…"

I didn't want to ruin his new bike but I was more afraid of falling or looking like an even bigger idiot in front of him.

"You'll be fine. I'll help you out."

I was nervous as all hell but I really didn't see a choice in the matter.

"Okay," I finally conceded.

"These are new so the tire pressure and brakes are good but I'm gonna help you out," he leaned over and lowered my seat. "Now hop on and see how that feels, make sure your feet touch the ground."

I did as I was told, and stiffened a bit when his arms kept brushing up against me. He looked really cute in his sweatshirt and beanie and I had never noticed that before. He also smelled really good, too. It wasn't heavy but a nice, light natural scent that made could make a woman weak in the knees.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"How does that feel?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Rely on the rear brake but remember balance is key. We'll just fuck around and ride around the block a few times. You need to get used to the bike first, try pushing off without your feet and holding your legs in the air and kind of glide along. Take note of how your body leans into curves and stuff but eventually you'll get comfortable enough to trust the bike and let it turn for you. You got it?"

No.

"Yes."

"Alright, keep up with me, I'll go slow."

I took off like a six year old without their training wheels for the first time. The bike would go a few feet, wobble, then I would panic and put my feet down. We made this awkward trek through the streets of Chicago for miles and I felt like the world's biggest fool.

"Punk, how much further?" I whined. "This sucks, it's not working."

"Sure it is," he glanced back at me.

"People are laughing at me."

Sure enough a car drove by and honked loudly as some drunk butthole in the passenger seat yelled something at me.

"No, they're not, they're laughing at me. Relax, kiddo, you're doing great."

A half hour later, I was out of breath, freezing, and near tears. Punk sensed my hesitation and we took a break and walked the bikes for a while. I wiped the frozen snot from my nose and sniffled.

"Starbucks?" I asked in a pitiful voice as one was straight ahead.

Punk grinned.

"As long as you don't order the no fat latte with whipped topping."

I gave him a meek smile as we parked the bikes temporarily and went inside. I ordered a French Vanilla Cappuccino and he got a low fat hot chocolate and we were back on our way.

"It's been a long evening," I sighed. "Are we done yet?"

"Not yet. Come on."

We walked a few more blocks, then crossed the street and that's when I saw it.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"The place where dreams come true. Wrigley Park, home of the Cubs."

We guided the bikes, Starbucks cups in hand, to the entrance. One of the security guys noticed Punk and let us through. It was a few weeks before baseball season was to officially start but already the team was working out. It was an amazing feeling to be at the world famous ball park surrounded by thousands of empty seats watching the team practice.

"Wow," I shuddered. "Punk…Punk, this is amazing."

"Pretty cool, huh?" he took a sip of the warm liquid in his cup. "I know it sounds corny but I've always wanted to throw out the first pitch at one of their games."

His voice and the look in his eye was sincere. I stared up at him, lost in the moment.

"It's not corny at all," I whispered.

We stood there for a long time, silent, just taking in all the action. Finally it was time to go.

"You ready to head out?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, um, it's getting late."

I took a nervous breath. For the first time I felt like I was hanging out with a friend. We'd had such an adventurous night that I didn't want it to end.

"So what do you want to when we get home?" I asked, getting a little too comfortable.

Punk narrowed his eyes.

"I was gonna head to my friend Chez's house and watch some MMA stuff. Beth and a couple of other people are gonna be there. We had it all planned out already before I knew you were coming…"

"Oh," I stated flatly, trying to hide my disappointment. "It's okay. I'm beat anyway. I'm gonna hang out with Pepsi and do some work and probably crash."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

We kept walking, headed back to Wicker Park. After the bike ride from Hell, I was tired. But overall it had been a good day. I had enjoyed my time in Chicago, my time away from Stamford and especially my time with Punk. As I looked up at him and I could have sworn he winked at me in the moonlight, maybe I was starting to enjoy it a little too much.


	7. Day V

It was the final night in Chicago. After that, we were off to sunny San Diego, California, the city where the RAW brand would kick off their next set of house shows that would culminate with the live Monday night broadcast. The weather had been extremely brutal that day and when I had woken up, my visit to the bathroom had subsequently revealed that Mother Nature had decided to come see me early. I searched the guest bathroom for tampons, hoping maybe Beth or another female friend had left some behind but there was no such luck. So with a few sheets of Charmin stuffed in my panties, I had walked a few blocks to a corner store where I purchased enough feminine products to last for the rest of the trip. When I returned, Punk was gone. He hadn't left a note but I figured he had gone to the gym. He returned a few hours later and based on how he was dressed, I was right. Pepsi and I were lounging on the couch.

"Hey," I said as the door opened.

"What's up?" he went right to rifling through some mail on the counter.

"Have a good workout?"

"It was okay," he threw some junk flyers in the garbage. "I pulled a muscle in my lower back but whatever."

"You alright?"

"I think I'll live."

"I've got some Advil or Aleve, if you don't have anything stronger."

He shot me an annoyed look.

"I'm good, trust me. That's the problem with this world, Cynthia. Everybody's solution for every ache, pain, sad thought and God knows whatever else is to pop a damned pill. No thank you. I'll just deal with it. Hell, I had surgery once and didn't take any of that shit they gave to me. Vicodin, Percocet…"

"Are you serious?" my eyes widened. "How did you manage to deal with the pain?"

"I'm not a pussy so I dealt with it like a man."

"Wow."

"What's with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't look so hot."

My face flushed. Getting used to Punk's lack of filter was still taking some getting used to.

"I…"

"Cramps, huh?"

"Wait...how, how did you know?"

Discussing my menstrual cycle with CM Punk wasn't exactly the conversation piece I had envisioned.

"Chicks get that look when you're having cramps and all of a sudden you just want to lay around. You should have a milkshake."

"Milkshake?" I frowned.

He shrugged.

"I used to date this broad who claimed to be a vegan but every time she started ragging, she'd reach for a shake. Go figure. Anyway, it's just a suggestion."

"I'm okay. Um, thanks…"

He kneeled down and Pepsi went willingly to him, purring appreciatively at the impromptu back rub he received.

"Suit yourself. Anyway, I've got a lot of shit to do. I need to pack for the road trip but I'm fucking starving," he rubbed his stomach for emphasis.

I played with my hands, contemplating the awkward suggestion I was about to make.

"You, you want something to eat? I mean, I could make you something, cook some food, if you want."

He didn't look impressed and continued playing with the cat. Teasing Pepsi with the drawstring of his sweat pants seemed to be quite amusing for the both of them.

"Nah. I think I'm gonna hit up Kuma's Corner later."

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's a restaurant on West Belmont. I've been going there since forever, since before it was considered all popular and chic and trendy. Anyway, they have great food and it's got the heavy metal culture going on and the people that work there are pretty rad. They take care of me."

"Sounds fun."

"It's a good time. You want to check it out later?"

"Huh?" I sat up.

Punk gave me that look again, the one that made me think that he thought I was a total weirdo.

"Get something to eat at Kuma's?"

"Oh yeah," I tried to be casual. "That's fine."

He nodded.

"We'll go in a few hours. I'm gonna hit the shower."

He disappeared into the master bedroom and closed the door behind him. My stomach began to feel weird and it had nothing to do with my period. I wasn't one of _those _girls. I'd never dated a lot or been much of a social butterfly. I liked guys but studies had been my top priority in high school and college and afterwards, my career had taken the front seat. By my own admission, I was a little socially awkward, which was one of the main reasons why I'd had trepidation in taking the assignment to photograph Punk in the first place. The other reason was because I was a major homebody and I didn't deal well with change. But here I was in Chicago in his loft and now he was inviting me to dinner. I was smart enough to know it wasn't a date, not like a real date, like the ones he had probably taken Beth or other women on. But we were still going out in public together, sharing a meal, presumably alone.

I didn't know how I felt about that. It shouldn't have been a big deal. It was just food among friends, and technically we weren't even friends yet. I was still getting to know him. I was still learning his reactions and thought processes and mannerisms. He was a complex guy, at times difficult to figure out. There were a lot of layers there. At times he was brash and blunt and in the next second, he could be tender and shy. He was always funny and intriguing. I liked that about him. I was starting to like him and I knew that couldn't be good for business. First of all, I was there to do a job. And it was not like I had a chance anyway. Guys like him, good looking guys with a lot going for them, didn't go for girls like me, mousy, quiet…nerdy. Who was I to think that I could compete with women like Maria Kanellis or Beth "Phoenix" Kocanski?

After about an hour or so of dwelling on and totally overthinking the situation, I stood up and headed to the spare room. I went through my bag and looked for something nice to wear. From the way he described the place, it wasn't like I was having to dress fancy to go to some five star restaurant but I still wanted to look, well, pretty for him. I frowned and bit my lip. This was so unlike me. I was never the girl that stood in front of the mirror for hours on end trying to find the perfect outfit in the hopes of impressing some guy. But as I found myself surrounded by a sea of clothes and poor Pepsi looking at me like I was a moron, I finally decided on black leggings, black boots, and a beige sweater. I put on some lip gloss and a coat of mascara as my hair hung like a ragdoll. Most of the time I pulled it up but instead I let it hang loose across my shoulders. I debated for about two seconds to ditch my glasses but just the mental image of me, blind as a bat, tripping over the chair in front of Punk and the rest of Chicago was enough to make me put them on and wonder why I had never tried contacts.

"Hi," I said as I entered the living room where he was waiting.

He wore jeans, sneakers, a tee shirt, a hoodie and a skully. That seemed to be his regular cold wear attire the only changed being sweats and a hat. I gave him an awkward smile before refilling Pepsi's water and food bowls. I felt him watching me and it made me hope my butt looked okay in leggings. When our eyes met, he actually had a thoughtful, sweet expression on his face.

"Pepsi really seems to be taking to you," he observed, arms loosely folded.

I grinned.

"He's a great pet."

"That's kind of cool the way you take care of him."

"It's nothing," I blew it off.

I enjoyed the kitten. He was cute and great company.

"So you ready to get out of here?" he asked.

I chuckled.

"As long as it doesn't involve a bike ride around the city, sure."

He genuinely returned my grin as we headed down to the parking lot.

"You look nice tonight," he said as we walked and I felt like I might pass out.

"Thanks," I didn't bother to look at him.

The ride to the eatery took longer than usual as traffic was heavy. The Ramones blared on the satellite radio as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in beat with the music. When we finally arrived, I was starved. He held the door open for me in a non-gentleman type of way and someone from the wait staff ushered us in immediately. We got a table in the back and I looked hungrily at the menu. He ordered an appetizer of Fried Calamari for the both of us to share even though he didn't bother to ask me if that's what I wanted.

"I swear they have the best burgers in Chicago."

"What are you gonna get?" I asked.

"The Black Sabbath," he said with zero hesitation.

I frowned before realizing that all the burgers were named after metal bands. His burger was topped with Blackening Spice, chili, Pepper Jack, and red onion. I chose the Metallica with Buffalo Sauce, bacon, and Bleu Cheese dressing. We sipped on Pepsi ironically and made small talk when people who knew Punk weren't coming up to our table to say hi. 15 or so minutes later, our food finally arrived. I took one bite and fell in love. It was truly the best burger I had ever tasted.

"Mmmm, this is so good," I wiped my mouth.

"Told you so."

"I bet you come here every chance you get."

He shrugged.

"Only for my cheat meal."

"What's a cheat meal?"

"I work out a lot and I eat healthy, or at least I try to. I like to lay off the carbs, the sugars, the high calorie and high fat foods. Every four to six days, I allow myself to have one cheat meal where I can eat whatever the hell I want, in moderation of course. It's a nice break, my taste buds certainly appreciate it and having that consistent routine does help speed up metabolism so you can shed body fat quicker."

"You work out a lot," I noted. "I admire that, you know, the strong work ethic."

"It's part of the job. I only started working out when I was 17 or 18 and that was because I was wrestling. I'm not gonna lie, it took a ton of work to get where I am now physically and I'm still learning and maturing in the gym. No matter what, I try to at least get in an hour of cardio a day. I'll be on the treadmill running my ass off and still thinking I look fat."

He let out a sarcastic chuckle but I knew he was being serious. I could also tell that it bothered him. This puzzled me. CM Punk in all his bad ass glory was the last person to strike me with body image issues.

"You, you're not fat."

"Sometimes I think I look like shit," he absently played with his food. "In the business they call it skinny fat."

"What's that?"

"Not overly bulky or gross but while it appears to be a total package at first glance, on second look and especially underneath the clothes, there are some real issues there. Could be a lot better. Anyway, a lot of guys I came up with in the Indys started roiding. I admit, I thought about it a time or two but I never did. It goes against everything I believe in when it comes to being straight edge."

"Wise decision."

"Tell me about it. Can you imagine my ass all gassed up? I'd be a monster but then again, who knows? I don't understand how they work. Some guys take them and they look like they've never even seen a gym before. Then there's all that roid rage bullshit. Can you see that?" he laughed out loud. "Me being even angrier than I am now."

I thought about that night with the cops and cringed.

"Yeah, stick to the cheat meals and the cardio. You'll be fine."

He looked over and smiled at me.

"So your food is good and stuff?"

"It's great. Thank you."

"We'll probably get going soon. The flight is early in the morning."

"Okay," I agreed, preparing to take another bite of food. "Hey Punk?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you look great."

I don't know why I said that, whether or not because it was true or if I just wanted to make him feel better but I instantly felt like an idiot. Then he looked at me and even though he smirked, it made me feel better. I was having a good time. Chicago had been great. Maybe things would change back on the road but those three days in Illinois had been pretty awesome.


	8. Day VI

Friday morning we were up early and at O'Hare. We had a non-stop flight to San Diego International and after a slight delay with Avis, we finally had a rental car. Punk was none too pleased with the economy size rental car but we trudged on. We had eight more days together which meant I had one more chance to go back to Chicago with him. Secretly that kind of made me happy. I had enjoyed my time there and mostly, I couldn't wait to hang out with Pepsi again. But the WWE lifestyle was all about looking ahead, not looking back. We had a lot to do. He had three upcoming house shows in three nights and of course, RAW. The schedule was insane and still adjusting, I was just trying to keep up.

I settled in my hotel room and rested for a while. I looked through my roles of film at all the images I had managed to capture of Punk in our short time together. He was really photogenic, surprisingly. I looked through the photos with a smile, remembering exactly what was going on when I was taking them. Some made me laugh. Punk had a way of teasing me sometimes but I long suspected that his annoyance at me and my picture taking was slightly exaggerated. Sometimes I actually think he kind of liked it. My favorite photo so far was a close-up shot of him. He was grinning and he had this sweet look in his eyes that instantly made me wonder what he was thinking about in that moment. But truth be told, I felt a little behind schedule. I had less than a hundred frames of him. I knew they would need an insane number of shots to choose from which meant I had to step up my game in the next week. There was no time like the present so I took a deep breath, grabbed my camera bag, and prayed Punk was in a good mood as I walked down the hall towards his room. Just as I raised my hand to knock, the door opened and he walked out.

"Hey," I said surprised.

He frowned at me.

"What are you doing here?"

So much for the good mood.

"I, I need some more pictures of you," I blurted out.

"You already have a bunch of pictures."

"Yeah, I know it may seem that way but we need more and we're on a tight schedule. I was wondering…"

"No," he looked right at me.

"No?"

"You heard me. Not now. I don't have time."

He brushed past me and I noticed he wasn't wearing gym clothes.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Getting kind of comfortable, don't you think?"

I bit my lip, instantly regretting how I had come off.

"Sorry. I just meant…"

"If you must know, I'm going over to Rady Children's Hospital."

"Oh. Well, can I come?"

"Nope," he headed to the elevator.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not a field trip, number one, and number two, because I said so."

I must have looked hurt because I saw him get that irritated expression he got right before he was nice to me after stinging my feelings.

"Okay. Um, I guess I'll see you when you get back then."

I turned to go back to my room and heard him curse under his breath.

"Alright," he called out. "Grab your purse and whatever the hell else you need. You've got ten seconds."

"I'm ready now," I didn't even bother trying to hide my growing smile.

He shot me a skeptical look.

"No, you're not. Get rid of that thing."

He was talking about my camera.

"What? Why?"

"Because this is not a photo opportunity. Damn, Cynthia, quit asking so many questions."

"But if you're doing a Make A Wish Event, I'm sure the WWE is going to want pictures…"

"It's not a Make A Wish event, not officially. Look, if you want to come, put that stupid camera back in your room, then move the maple syrup out of your ass. I'm not gonna wait forever."

He was annoyed with me, which he seemed to be a lot. I wanted and needed more pictures of him but clearly he wasn't having it. But what he did have was my undivided attention. There were no scheduled appearances that day and here he was visiting a children's hospital "not officially" as he put it. I was fascinated so I quickly tossed my bag in my room and met him on the elevator. He said nothing on the way down to the car or once we were in it. He parked in the lot of the hospital and retrieved what looked like a small gift bag from the trunk. Inside we were greeted at the administration desk and given visitor's passes. Punk was still ignoring me even as we made our way to a large playroom. In the corner there was a table and a little girl about six or seven years old wearing a pink Dora the Explorer nightgown was drawing pictures with a crayon. A smile spread across Punk's face as he approached her, the bag carefully hidden behind his back.

"Punk!" her whole face lit up when she saw him.

She dropped her crayon and ran to him, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

"How's my favorite girl?" he asked, as he took a seat in one of the child sized chairs.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetheart. What have you been up to?"

"Nothing," she shrugged her little shoulders. "Just playing."

He smiled.

"You been feeling alright?"

"Uh huh. Daddy bought me Shrek Forever After and we watched it and it was so funny. Then we ate jello."

She was adorable.

"That sounds like a lot of fun. Sorry I missed it, kiddo."

"Who's that?" the little girl looked up at me with wide blue-green eyes.

"This is Cynthia. We work together," he explained as the child began to frown. "It's not like that. She's not my girlfriend, Penny, she's just a friend."

He chuckled as her face lit up again with the news that he was apparently still single.

"Hi," she looked at my shyly.

I kneeled down to her level and extended my hand.

"Nice to meet you. Penny, is it?"

Penny shook her head.

"It's Penelope. Only Punk calls me Penny."

I stood back and let them have their private time together. It was yet another side of Punk I hadn't seen. He was beyond great with kids. Penny was having a wonderful time and so was Punk. They laughed and talked, seemingly lost in their own little world together. Over the course of an hour and a half, she drew him a picture, convinced him to put on a puppet show, and they ended it with a tea party. He capped off the visit with his present, a child sized CM Punk tee shirt and one of his action figures that Penny was thrilled about receiving.

"Alright you," he said with a sigh. "It's been fun but it's about that time."

"Do you have to go already?" she asked sadly.

"I'm afraid so but I'll call you tomorrow and next time we come to town, I will come see you again. How does that sound?"

It brought another smile to her face.

"Fun."

"You bet. Be good, okay?"

"Okay," she said before beginning to cough.

Her breathing became heavy and labored as her face turned red.

"You okay, kid?" Punk asked with concern. "Hey, can we get a nurse over here or something?"

"I'm okay," she said.

The nurse came over and seemed to concur. Punk still seemed unnerved but he gave Penny a hug. They said their good byes and then we were off. Once inside the car, he took a deep breath, absently tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he stared into space. He sat that way for a while.

"You alright?" I finally asked.

He nodded slowly.

"I'm cool. A lot better off than most. Coming to a place like this really puts that into perspective."

"Who is Penny?" I asked softly.

He exhaled.

"Last year I got tapped to come here for an appearance. I admit, it was kind of depressing at first being around a bunch of sick kids, especially on my day off. When I first started doing these appearances it was so weird but all it took was one before I realized this…this I what it's all about, you know? This is such a big part of what we do as WWE Superstars and it's an important part. Anyway, I met Penny and she's such a cool little kid. You saw that yourself. She just took to me and I took to her and the rest is history. I've been visiting her whenever I can ever since."

"That's like the sweetest thing ever."

He shrugged it off.

"It is what it is. I know the cameras have to be present for the Make A Wish stuff and the official appearances. It's good for business and I get that. I don't mind it but something like this…it's personal. Penny is not just some random sick child. I care about her. That doesn't need to be whored out for the whole world to see all in the name of good PR."

"She really loves you. I mean that. Her whole face just brightened when she saw you."

Punk smiled.

"Penny is awesome but it's tough. Seeing any kid so sick really sucks. It's not fair. They're just little kids, they're innocent. They don't deserve that shit."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Some sort of congenital heart defect. For a while she got better, she was doing great but um…she had a relapse a few months ago. Been back here ever since. They were trying to put it off but it looks like they're gonna have to do another surgery."

"She's so young," I closed my eyes.

"I know. Her parents are having a hard time paying all the medical bills."

"Maybe they could get hooked up with a charity or a sponsor or something like that."

"They did. They get a lot of help but sometimes it's still not enough. So I help out with what I can."

"What do you mean?"

"It's no big deal," he stared out the window. "I chip in with bills here and there and I put up the rest of the cash that they were missing for the operation. It's, um, it's the least I can do. It's a lot of money but it's for a good cause. It beats going out blowing it on mansions, Bentleys, and drugs."

"You are such a good person."

"Yeah? Don't tell anybody," he quipped.

"I mean it," tears filled my eyes.

Punk cranked up the car and we pulled off, making our way into the midday southern California traffic. I had no words for what I had just seen or heard. He seemed peaceful and thoughtful during the drive. Soon we were back at the hotel.

"Look, if you really need more pictures maybe we can do some stuff this evening at the arena before the show."

"Okay," I quietly agreed.

He smirked and was back to his usual self again.

"I'm going to grab something to eat. You've annoyed me enough today. I'll catch up with you later."

I took that as the term of endearment it was meant to be.

"Sure."

"Make sure you get shots tonight of the live action. The match tonight should be good. I'm gonna clobber some fools."

He got out of the car but I couldn't. I just sat there. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Punk never ceased to surprise or amaze me. He was tough as nails and as sarcastic as they came on the outside but on the inside, he was a big Twinkie. It was one thing to rescue a homeless, hungry kitten but taking personal time and interest away from the cameras to not only financially assist but literally put a smile on an ill little girl's face was beyond remarkable. I had a newfound respect for him. And seeing him so genuine and so vulnerable in that moment and in the moments playing with Penny, I had fallen in love.


	9. Day VII

It was a warm and beautiful Saturday night in Anaheim, California. The Convention Center was sold out and the fans were as excited as ever. I looked around from my place in the Gorilla. Crossing my arms close to my body, I studied the scene around me. The backstage was as busy as ever. People were everywhere. I wore my WWE Corporate badge and based on some of the scowls I had been receiving, that was the only thing allowing me to keep the position I had chosen. It was one of the best seats in the house. Punk had a match that night main eventing against the company golden boy, John Cena. He had been ready for a few hours, in his gear that consisted of boots, protective wear and the tights he usually referred to as his "underwear". He put on a pullover and slipped the hood over his head. He warmed up, moving around getting in the zone. I watched quietly and retrieved my camera, not even bothering to size up the photos I was taking. Instead, I just snapped shot after shot. This was his routine, one of the biggest parts of his everyday life. Those pictures, those captured moments revealed the true CM Punk, the true Phil Brooks even. It was a window into his life, into his very soul.

When his music started, he made his way down the ramp to the familiar boos and jeers. He was a bad guy, the charismatic Superstar the WWE Universe loved to hate. I watched him. He ate up their reactions, he fed off their energy. He had often said in interviews that being a professional wrestler had been his dream since he was six years old. Now he was living that. I wondered what that felt like. Sure, I was enjoying the career I had always wanted but it was different. I worked in a digital media department in a high rise office in Connecticut. He traveled the world night after night living his dream in front of thousands of excited fans. What was that like? I guess I had never given it much thought before. Not until now.

The most interesting thing I had learned about Punk was that he was a walking contradiction. Just when you thought you had him figured out, you realized you didn't, that you were nowhere near close. But there was something about his eyes, something in his eyes. When you looked closely at them, deeply into them, you saw uncomplicated glimpses of a simple man. Those few seconds right before he went to the ring, you could see focus, commitment, intensity…excitement. As I watched him in his element, it was those times that I realized just how good he was at what he did, at what he loved. I didn't know all the technical lingo and the wrestling terms but I did know that Punk was a sound and capable, formidable opponent. They finished the match and Cena won when Punk ended up getting himself disqualified. He remained in the ring a few minutes after it was over, sheer genius on the mic as he taunted the crowd over and over again. When he finally made his way back, I was there waiting for him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning, taking a towel and wiping at his sweaty face.

I couldn't see his eyes. It was in those moments I wondered exactly what he was thinking. He sounded annoyed as all hell. I knew I got on his nerves at times and most of the time, it wasn't me as a person but just the mere presence of a relentless shadow hired to document his every move. But beyond that, what was it? Was that it? Was that how he really felt? Was that all he felt? Or was it part of the sarcastic front? Was it all an act? Did he like me? It was probably silly to ponder on such questions but it was something I actually thought about a lot. The more time we spent together, the more I got to know him. The more I liked being around him. The more I felt attracted to him.

"Waiting for you," I nervously shrugged. "I, I wanted to see your match."

He gave me a skeptical look at best as I wordlessly followed him to the back.

"Next time watch the monitors from one of the rooms or come out onto the arena floor."

"Okay."

He rolled his eyes.

"Did anybody say anything about you standing up there?" he asked.

"Not really. I just got a bunch of weird looks."

"That's because the Gorilla position is sacred territory. It was named after Gorilla Monsoon. He's a legend in the business. I mean it. That dude did it all…wrestling, announcing, booking. He was one of true greats. Anyway, that front area right behind the curtain was where he used to stand and cue the talent for their spots. They named that position after him. It's where the wrestlers wait but only when you're headed out for your match. Out of respect, no one just hangs out there. So just so you know, that's the history of that and that's why you got weird looks."

"Oh," I stated.

"You had no idea, did you?"

"No."

Honestly, I did not but I was impressed that he did. Not that I was surprised. He was very knowledgeable about the business, which was just another extension of his passion for his sport.

"Figures," he shook his head.

"Punk…"

"I just don't get it."

"Get what?"

"How you could work for a place and not know anything about it."

I could feel my face turning red. His voice was calm but I still felt like he was chastising me.

"You know, it's more to the WWE as a company than just wrestling," I quietly defended myself. "It's kind of two dimensional. I mean, maybe you don't know a lot about the corporate stuff and what goes on in the offices in Stamford…"

"Thank God," he muttered.

I continued.

"….We got into this business for two very different reasons, Punk. We're two different people. Digital media is my passion just like wrestling is yours. The company is very respected and they have their hands in everything as far as technology and globalization and things like that. It was a great opportunity. And I know you wrestled in the Indys and all those guys are dying to get to the big leagues on live TV with RAW and Smackdown. So we both love our jobs and we both wanted to work for the best."

I said it. It was so clear in my mind but as the words tumbled out, it sort of felt like rambling, or at least that's how it sounded. Or maybe it was just in my head because I hate the way my own voice sounds. But regardless I wanted him to know that I wasn't stupid. In a lot of ways, we were alike. I studied his face for a reaction but it was blank at first. In a way I had challenged him. Maybe he was angry.

"I guess I never saw it like that," he finally said after a few quiet minutes of thought.

"Oh," I said again, surprised that he had conceded.

He seemed relaxed as he opened his bag and began digging around.

"So is that what you always wanted to do?" he asked.

"What?"

He looked up at me and grinned.

"Be a computer nerd."

I slowly returned his smile.

"Not always," I kicked at the floor. "I mean, in high school and when it was time for college, yeah, of course I knew what I wanted to be but as a little kid…I don't know. I guess I was like most little girls. I wanted to be a mom or a teacher or a nurse."

"How original," he teased. "And how safe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've always wanted to be a wrestler. I can't ever remember wanting to do anything else in my life. I admit, it was a long shot. Hell, most might even call it a pipe dream but I didn't give a shit. It was what I wanted more than anything. I wanted it, I knew I was great at it and maybe something inside of me was attracted to the fact that it wasn't safe. Yeah, I could have been like a lot of my friends and dreamed of being a police officer or firefighter or something like that but I think I liked being the underdog chasing the unattainable."

"That's pretty cool," I said.

"So what about you? Tell me about a time when you weren't safe."

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he folded his arms across his chest. He was obviously waiting for a story and he seemed genuinely interested in my response. But I didn't have a story. I was about as plain and simple and uncomplicated as they came.

"Let me see…when I was really little I did want to be a ballerina."

It was all I had but it was true. I took a class in elementary school and my mom bought me a little pink tutu.

"Ballerina, huh?"

Punk laughed out loud, his face turning red as his whole body shook with amusement. He seemed to be getting a kick out of my childhood dream.

"Yes, ballerina. What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, still chuckling as he glanced down at my feet. "With those claudhoppers, you'd probably have a better shot at trying out for the women's soccer team but okay, whatever. I guess I'll take ballet."

I frowned, staring at my shoe clad feet. They weren't that big…were they?

"What's wrong with my feet?"

"Nothing, they're just big."

"Are not."

"Are too."

I looked again.

"Really?"

He was still smiling.

"They aren't yachts or anything but you're a really petite chick. You're short and tiny and yeah your feet are a little big for your frame but it's no big deal. I'm sure it makes coordination a little difficult but that's not required for being a computer geek so lucky you."

"You're mean."

"I'm only teasing, just busting your balls, kid. Man, you are way too serious sometimes. We seriously gotta work on that sense of humor of yours. Look, there's nothing wrong with your feet and I'm sure you would have made a fine ballerina."

"Thank you…I think."

"I'm just gonna grab my stuff and put it on. We can grab a quick bite to eat on the road and I'll just shower at the hotel. Is that cool?"

"Yeah, of course. That's fine, I mean, if I can stomach the stench and all."

I kept a straight face as he turned to face me, one eyebrow raised.

"Still smells like Old Spice," he proclaimed as he sniffed his pits.

I cringed before giggling.

"Don't be so defensive there, Punky. I was only busting your balls," I kidded him.

He made a face at me.

"Very cute for you and if you ever call me Punky again, I am afraid I am going to have to murder you, then dismember your body."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm starving," he said, more to himself as he slipped his shirt over his head.

A few seconds later he had finished changing and had gathered all his belongings. We were ready to hit the road yet again.

"So is it true?" I asked as I followed him out the exit.

"Is what true?"

"What you said about wrestling. Is that all you really ever wanted to do?"

He stopped and looked me in my eyes.

"It's not just a dream, Cynthia," his voice softened. "It's my life. I put everything into this, I gave up everything for it and I have no regrets. It's not like I wanted to be a football player or MMA fighter and it didn't work out and I fell back on wrestling. This…everything you see here…the backstage drama and politics, the overzealous fans at five a.m., the living in and out of airports and rental cars, the busting my ass working out…it all leads to one thing."

"What's that?" I cleared my throat.

He smiled a real smile.

"The feeling you get during those ten to thirty seconds when you're walking down to that ring and your adrenaline is pumping so fast it feels like your whole body might explode. And that feeling of locking up in the ring. That's what it's all about, at least for me. And it always will be."

With that, he turned and headed out to the parking lot where the car was. I stopped for a few seconds before hurrying to catch up with him. He had said it and meant it and I knew it was true. The sincerity practically oozed from him. I could see it, the love for his business and just everything else in his eyes. It was all about the eyes.


	10. Day VIII

With my work schedule in Stamford always so busy, the only downtime I was ever guaranteed was Sundays. It was my sanctuary, my one day off. But when it came to traveling on the road with the talent, especially CM Punk, there were no such things as lazy Sunday afternoons. I was curled up in the middle of my king sized bed watching some special on the National Geographic channel when I heard a knock, or rather a loud bang at my door. I stood and walked over to it, standing on the tips of my toes to peek out the peephole. I saw Punk.

"Hey," I said, opening the door, clearing my throat. "What's going on?"

He looked inside my room at the heap of tangled sheets on the bed.

"You asleep in there?"

"No."

He smirked.

"You got company?"

I blushed and made a horrified face.

"No! No, of course not."

He looked me up in down.

"I was just ribbing you, don't get your panties in a wad."

My face only got redder as CM Punk made reference to my panties.

"I, I won't."

"Anyway, I was on my way to the gym and I was wondering if you wanted to come."

"Okay," I nervously shifted my weight. "I mean, I normally don't work out…"

The gym was not my thing. Honestly I didn't have time for it and even if I had, sweating all over a treadmill was the last way I wanted to spend my free time.

"Well you should."

"Excuse me?"

"Work out. You only get one body. Taking care of it is important."

"I do," I lied.

Well, it wasn't a total lie. I didn't drink or smoke or do drugs or anything deliberately bad and I had been blessed being naturally thin. I totally considered that taking care of myself.

"Anyway, I wasn't asking you to come work out. I mean, you can if you want but I was just seeing if you wanted to get some pictures in. The gym is my home away from home. You're supposed to be documenting the life of the 'real' CM Punk, right? Well, this is a big part of who I am."

I quickly nodded and wasted no time in getting my camera equipment together. Wearing one of those Victoria's Secret Pink jumpsuits, I pinned up my hair and followed him out. The hotel had a gym but he preferred one closer to downtown. The guys traveled so frequently that they had favorite gyms, restaurants, and shopping stores in every city. To my surprise, the place was pretty much empty. I lagged behind while he talked to the woman at the front desk. After a few minutes, he gestured me over. Immediately we headed over to the weights. He took off his hoodie to reveal a Bake and Destroy tee shirt that he had cut the sleeves off of. He wore sneakers and workout shorts. As he began warming up, I started doing my thing.

Punk was in his element and so was I. He was in his own little world as if I did not exist. All that mattered was the routine he was so focused on. I could see the determination in his eyes. I wanted to capture that, to showcase the real essence of CM Punk. I snapped shot after shot and after adjusting my lens, I noticed his biceps. His arms muscles looked a lot bigger when they were flexing and lifting. Compared to some of the other guys in the locker room like Sheamus and Cena, Punk's muscle mass seemed ordinary but up close and personal and seeing his meticulous routine, it was easy to see how all his hard work had paid off. He had a great physique. The sweat poured off his brow and he worked his upper body for a long time. Finally he stopped.

"Punk, that was great," I smiled softly, probably sounding more like a star struck groupie than a professional photographer.

He wiped his face.

"It was alright. The shoulder workout was pretty shitty."

"Wow. If you think that was bad, I'd hate to see what you think is good."

The man had pushed himself to the brink but it was easy to see when it came to his body, he aspired to be a perfectionist.

"I don't know. I don't feel so hot. Not that it's an excuse or anything."

"You coming down with something?" I inquired.

He quickly shrugged it off.

"It doesn't matter. The show goes on. Anyway, did you get your shots or whatever?"

I grinned.

"I did. I got some really cool ones. You know, Punk, you photograph really well."

"Thanks," he said.

"Are we done here?"

He shot me that "yeah right" look.

"Just a break. Gonna guzzle some water."

"Oh. Okay."

He stared at me for a few seconds.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"You want to try it out?"

I realized he was referring to the weights and I shook my head.

"I told you I don't work out."

"Maybe you should. You know, just because you're thin, doesn't mean you're in shape and it certainly doesn't mean that you're healthy."

I felt my face flush again.

"I, I don't know what to do," I stammered.

Great. I was already a klutz. I could imagine trying to pick up the weights and doing something totally embarrassing like falling or dropping them. I wasn't like the girls Punk was used to, girls like Beth. One look at her and you could tell she was queen of the gym. And she probably looked graceful and beautiful and sexy while doing it too.

"What if we switch places?" he suggested.

I frowned, not understanding what he was getting at.

"I don't understand."

"You never work out and you don't know what to do. I've certainly never had all that fancy camera equipment. Why don't we switch? You lift, I'll shoot."

I couldn't help but smile. Just picturing that was a funny scene.

"I don't know…"

"I'll go first," he volunteered, picking up my camera.

I cringed.

"Be careful, Punk."

It was a delicate and expensive piece of equipment.

"There you and your panties go again," he shook his head. "Relax. I won't drop it."

I reached around, my hand kind of shaking.

"Here, let me help you."

"Okay."

I loudly cleared my throat.

"Um, first pick a subject. What do you want to shoot?"

He looked right in my eyes.

"You."

"Me?" I croaked.

"Why not? It's only fair, right? You have this bad boy shoved in my face 24/7. Turnabout is fair play."

"I, I guess."

"Coolness," he said as he raised the camera to his face and pointed it right at me.

It made me laugh.

"No, Punk. You're doing it all wrong."

"Cut me a break. I still have a Kodak instamatic."

"They still make those?" I teased.

"You've got jokes today, huh. Wow. A sense of humor…I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. I'm impressed."

I rolled my eyes and ignored him.

"Okay, if you insist on shooting me, now you have to figure out where you want me to stand and how you want me to pose."

He thought for a few seconds.

"Over there by the mirror. And as you like to tell me all the time, don't pose, just be natural."

"Alright. Now you're going to want lots of light. That is very, very important but remember it can't be direct light."

"Why don't we just use the flash?"

"Because flashes wash out colors and details and they can create shadows. And speaking of, the last thing you want is a blurry photograph so make sure you can hold the camera steady. If not, I have a small tripod in my bag."

"I think I can handle it."

There was the usual hint of sarcasm in his voice but I could tell I had his full attention and I liked that. He was listening to me, he knew that I knew what I was talking about.

"Fine. I am going to go stand where you told me. Just direct and tell me what to do. If you're gonna just start snapping away because you don't want me posed, that's fine but the art in it is for you not to rush. Play around. Take a bunch of different shots. Reposition me, get closer, stand further away."

I walked over to the mirror and Punk got to work. He gave a few instructions, telling me what to do. He was all over the place in both direction and technique but I couldn't help but giggle. Besides it was kind of cute.

"You're doing it all wrong," he complained. "Don't you watch Tyra? Come on. Give me more neck. Give me fierce."

I laughed out loud.

"Why Punk, I think you've found a second niche. You are way too into this."

"It's not too bad and if I do say so myself, I am actually pretty good at it."

"You're okay, novice, but just think of the whole photography thing sort of like a game of odds. The more shots you take, the better chance you have of getting good pictures. And the bad ones we can always delete and in my case, that'll probably be all of them," I chuckled.

"You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Huh?"

He kept shooting.

"You're shy and quiet and uptight as hell but you're a pretty girl."

It came out of the blue and I couldn't believe what I had just heard. Punk thought I was pretty. Hell, I thought he was pretty too and I wanted to tell him as much in that moment right there but my throat was too tight to form a coherent sentence.

"Thanks…so, um, are you all finished?"

"Sure."

I walked around and took the camera from him. We looked into the review screen to check out what Punk had done. A few shots were out of focus and I was off center in some of them but for the most part he had done well.

"Good job," I murmured.

"You weren't so bad yourself."

I didn't know about all that. I hated pictures of myself and was my own biggest critic but there were a couple of them that I…well, I looked kind of cute in them. There was one where I had this gigantic grin on my face, probably because of something silly Punk had said at the time.

"Thank you," I bit my lip, shyly looking up at him.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Your turn," he announced.

"Oh. Yeah…"

I walked over to the weight set and removed my hoodie. I had on a plain black tank underneath it.

"Get over here, spaghetti arms. Let me show you how it's done."

He grabbed two free arm weights at 15 pounds a piece. He motioned for me to sit down and handed them to me. He sat behind me and I could feel his breath against my neck.

"These are heavy."

"You'll live. Now listen to me. Dumbbells at your sides, palms facing towards the side of your thighs, arms straight down. I want your feet shoulder width apart, brace your abdominal muscles cause that is what's gonna help you lift. Slowly bring your left arm towards your shoulder and move your arm so that the weight faces upward."

"Like this?" I asked.

"Steady," he lifted his hand up to guide me. "You want your elbow pointed more at the ground like this."

I felt like a mass of quivering, uncoordinated jelly as he touched me. He guided me on the correct way to do the curls, first with my left arm, then with my right and finally with both.

"You're really good at this," I managed to squeak.

"It takes a lot of hard work."

"I just remember what you told me when you took me to Kuma's about how sometimes you still don't like the way you look."

I'd never forget that conversation. It was one of the few times I had seen him vulnerable.

"It is what it is. Most of the time I don't like what I see but that won't stop me from being in that gym every single day busting my ass trying to make it better, you know?"

I looked in the mirror and saw the reflection staring back at me. Me sitting on the bench, Punk behind me, gently guiding my every move. My breath caught in my throat. Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant.


	11. Day IX

Monday was one chaotic, hectic blur. After our little photography and workout session on Sunday, I didn't get to see Punk for the rest of the evening. The next day he had an interview with a local morning station. I accompanied him and got a few good pictures of the behind the scenes action but he was not his normal funny, sarcastic, even moody self. Punk was bland and quiet and I had started to worry about him. It was unlike him. Something was going on and within an hour or two of being at the arena, I finally figured out why. It started with a few sneezes that he dismissed. Then I noticed he kept coughing. His face looked really flushed and he kept wiping away at beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"You okay?" I asked right before the show.

He was already dressed in his boots, New Nexus tee shirt and trunks.

"I'm fine," he kept insisting.

I made a face, obviously not convinced.

"You don't look fine. And you don't act fine. I think you're sick."

Punk rolled his eyes.

"Okay, Florence Nightingale."

"I'm being serious. Didn't you even say yesterday at the gym that you didn't feel good?"

"I said I'm fine," he repeated in an annoyed and slightly more forceful tone. "Look, I'd love to stand around and continue this lovely, interesting, and totally pointless conversation with you but I've got a match to get ready for and 16,000 people are out there ready to boo me. I'll see you later."

It kind of stung my feelings, I had to admit, when he snapped at me like that. It was just his way sometime but that didn't make it hurt any less. I had to quickly brush it off because one needed a thick skin if their sole job was to shadow the wrestler known as CM Punk for two whole weeks. So I shoved my hands in my pockets and unsuccessfully tried to blend in with everyone else backstage. A half hour later it was time for Punk's match and he marched past me without uttering a word. He walked down the ramp to the heated boos that he expected and put on the show that only he could. He was still dynamite in the ring and on the mic but I had spent enough time with him as of late to notice that subtle difference. He seemed to be out of energy, running on empty. And he still looked bad. I suspected a mini case of the flu. That always sucked. He may have been a WWE Superstar but he certainly wasn't Superman. I remember how awful it was when I was sick like that. The last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed to use the bathroom and here this man was battling it out on a live RAW broadcast in front of millions of fans. He gave it his all and finally finished the match. He returned to Gorilla and immediately broke out into a harsh coughing spell. I grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby cooler and handed it to him.

"Are you gonna admit it now?" I pestered, knowing I was pressing my luck and pushing his buttons all at the same time.

Punk scowled at me.

"Fine. You win. I feel like shit run over twice, okay? Whatever the hell this is, I've got a wicked case of it. Fever, throat gimmick, headache…in fact, my entire body aches all over. Happy now?"

"Of course I'm not happy. Punk, I don't want you to be sick."

"Whatever."

"When is the last time you had something to eat?" I questioned.

He shrugged.

"I don't know. Saturday, maybe? Yesterday I didn't have an appetite."

"What about now? Think you can eat even a little something?"

"Nah. I just want to lie down."

I nodded. I knew he felt bad and I wanted to somehow make it better for him. He changed quickly while I waited. I took the reigns and got behind the wheel of the rental car. When Punk didn't protest or even make a single snide remark, I knew he was feeling bad. We went straight back to the hotel. Before getting on the elevator, I made a pit stop at the mini mart in the lobby picking up orange juice, ginger ale, bottled water, Gatorade and Saltine crackers. We ended up in his room and I blushed as he didn't even wait for me to turn my back before stripping down to his boxer shorts and climbing underneath the warm covers. I poured some orange juice over ice, mixing it with the ginger ale.

"Here," I handed it to him.

He took a sip and frowned.

"What the hell is that concoction? You trying to kill me?"

"The orange juice has plenty of Vitamin C and the ginger ale will help settle your stomach. I know you don't like to take medicine. The best thing you can do is try to get some rest. When you feel up to it, try the Gatorade to replenish the electrolytes your body is losing. Not eating or drinking is going to dehydrate you. A few crackers should be easy on your stomach."

Punk shot me a skeptical look.

"When did you get so smart?"

I smiled.

"Get some sleep, Punk", I whispered softly.

It didn't take long. He was a little restless and his eyes fluttered but were soon closed. I turned off the lights and opened the curtain, letting the moon and the lights from the city's downtown softly illuminate the room. I turned to a random channel on the TV and took a seat on the recliner, yawning as I got comfortable under the extra blanket I had retrieved from the closet in his room. We'd be going to Chicago the next day and I hoped he was physically up to making the trip. But Punk was a trooper, a stubborn trooper at that. I knew he would be on that plane headed home come hell or high water. Even if it was a show the next day, he still would have brought it. You had to admire that.

I looked over at him. His sleep was anything but peaceful but at least his body was getting some much needed rest. Every wince and grunt, I wanted to run over to him and just take care of him. But I couldn't. I wasn't his nurse or his girlfriend. At times I wasn't even sure that I was his friend. Besides, he was okay. Illnesses like that unfortunately had to run their course. And I knew he didn't like me fussing over him. But he wasn't the type that asked for help or relied on people. My plan was just to watch over him for a few hours but I didn't realize how tired I was myself. I ended up drifting off.

"Fuck!"

My eyes instantly popped open. A few feet away Punk was wide awake, sitting up, coughing.

"You need water," I stood.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he nearly jumped straight off the bed.

"It's just me," I clumsily fumbled about in the darkness.

"You scared the shit out of me. You're lucky I feel like crap or you just would have gotten throttled."

"Sorry."

I handed him a bottle of cold water. He accepted and gulped most of it down in one big sip.

"Damn," he frowned, rubbing his throat.

"Still hurts, huh?" I kneeled down by the bed.

He sighed.

"I've definitely been better. This sucks."

I bit my lip.

"I'm sorry you're so sick. I hope you feel better soon, Punk."

It was feeble and corny but I meant it.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Now do you mind telling me what the hell you're still doing in my room?"

"You fell asleep. I didn't mean to but I fell asleep too, I guess. I was just making sure you'd be okay. I know you feel bad. I, um, I didn't want you to wake up in the middle of the night and need something and me not be here."

It sounded sappy and lame and corny but it was true. I only wanted to help. The few times he was vulnerable brought out this overwhelmingly insane need for me to take care of him.

"Why?" he asked after a few quiet and awkward seconds.

"Because I care. And I guess because we're friends. Maybe not real friends like you have back in Chicago but we've spent an awful lot of time together and I just…I just want you to be okay."

I was stumbling all over my words and as bad as he felt, I half expected him to say something smart and kick me out right then and there.

"That's um…that's pretty cool of you. Thanks."

I felt my heart flutter.

"Can I get you anything?" I offered.

He shook his head.

"Just need to go back to sleep."

"Okay."

"You know, it's funny…"

"What's that?"

"I hardly ever sleep. It comes and goes…an hour here, an hour there. If I get more than four hours a night, that's a shocker. I'm just glad I am off tomorrow. It would suck balls to have to do media or work a show feeling like this."

"Our flight is right before noon. It's nonstop, just over three hours. Think you'll make it?"

"I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Cynthia, I said it's fine. Geez. Anybody ever tell you that you hover too much?"

I suddenly felt stupid.

"No."

I nervously stood. Obviously I wasn't helping as much as I thought I was. It was doing his condition no good for me to get on his nerves.

"It's sweet."

"What?"

I turned to face him.

"Sweet but annoying as fuck," he chuckled, laughter that led to another coughing spell.

My natural instinct was to come to the rescue with water or comfort or whatever he needed but I quickly reminded myself to back off.

"I, um, I could stay for a while," I offered, hiding shaking sweaty hands in my pockets. "It, it's no big deal. Just in case you need something, you know, like if you wake up in the middle of the night but then again I could go. I, uh, I, I know you don't like me to hover so I could just go but if you need me, just call me or whatever or I could always call and check on you later…"

I was starting to ramble but Punk cut me off mid-sentence.

"Stay," he said in a voice I barely heard.

I swallowed hard.

"You, you sure?"

"Yeah, why not? You know, just in case I croak or something."

I cracked a smile in the darkness. He was at least making an effort.

"Okay," I grabbed the blanket and nestled back onto the recliner.

I tucked my sock clad feet underneath me.

"Seriously though, thanks for helping out or whatever. I don't get sick a lot but when I do, it gets pretty rough. Normally I like to just keep to myself and get over it and not make a big deal about stuff but you've really been there for me tonight."

I shrugged.

"No matter what, every year I always seem to get sick. It never fails, just like clockwork. But I'm the opposite of you. I'm such a big baby about stuff. When I was a little girl, my grandma used to always make me homemade chicken soup. She said that would cure anything. She would let me sleep in her bed and she would hold me close and sing to me and no matter what, she was right…I always seemed to feel better. I don't know, it was just nice, you know, to have that comfort, to have someone by your side who you knew cared. It just seemed to help. I know it sounds silly now but…"

"It doesn't sound silly."

I bit my lip.

"I, um, I'm gonna get some sleep. If you need anything and I mean that, Punk, anything at all, just wake me. I have the alarm set so we can get up for the flight tomorrow and even though I know you'll make it, just in case you don't feel like it, we can always standby for a later one."

"Sounds good," he pulled the covers up to his head and sniffled. "Good night, Cynthia."

Just hearing him call out my name made me feel warm and happy all over, a feeling I could definitely get used to.

"Good night, Punk," I said softly.


	12. Day X

It had been a busy day. The night before Punk had been sick with the flu. He had worked a show and at first refused to admit just how bad he felt but in the end he had succumbed to his symptoms and finally let me take care of him. I felt bad that he felt so bad and it was evident just how bleak the situation was. Punk looked awful. His straight edge lifestyle did not allow him to take medicine so I gathered as many natural remedies as possible and spent the night in his hotel room curled up on a nearby couch. He woke up in the middle of the night, shocked that I was still there but we ended up talking and he was too ill to protest my presence or what he called my "hovering". I had spent the night and other than a few coughing spells, Punk slept through the night. The next morning we woke up and got ready just in time to make the flight back to Chicago. He was cranky and uncomfortable on board the flight and the minute we landed, we headed to the parking garage. He let me drive his Land Rover and while I was prepared to go back to Wicker Park, Punk had other ideas.

He insisted we stop at Whole Foods to pick up a few groceries. He gave me a list a mile long after I convinced him that he needed to stay in the SUV. I returned after 20 minutes to which he suddenly remembered several items that he had forgotten. I went back inside the store and ended up picking up the wrong peanut butter to which an irritated Punk rolled his eyes, marched in the store and got what he wanted. After that, he said we had one more stop to make which happened to be a comic book store near downtown. I had never been into comics but he was an avid fan and had his favorites and apparently a new one to a series he had been following had just come out. He needed something to read in bed so we made that pit stop and then it was home sweet home. He got in bed and once I got him settled, I took up on the sofa. He only laid down for an hour before he appeared red face and sneezing with a blanket wrapped haphazardly around him.

"Hey," he said.

I looked up.

"Hey. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Well Mom," he began sarcastically.

"Punk!"

"I didn't feel like lying in there. It's depressing."

I couldn't help but chuckle because he was pouting and that was the last thing anyone expected from CM Punk. I stood and made a nice area for him to lie down. He did and I went to the kitchen to wash some dishes and change Pepsi's litter box. I was busy working and humming to myself when it happened. There was a flickering of the lights and then nothing. The TV went quiet and the loft went dark. The sudden cease of the noise jarred Punk away immediately and when I took a look outside, there was no power for blocks.

"It looks like a mini blackout," I sighed, putting down a dishtowel. "You alright?"

"I'm fine but that sucks."

He had a point. It did suck. I was hoping that the power would come back on soon. The temperature outside was near freezing and I was worried how cold it could get inside the loft. I did what I could as far as tidying up and it helped pass the hours. Unfortunately I was not able to prepare Punk a hot meal, which I knew soup was probably what he needed. He was dividing his time between reading and sleeping. His appetite had not returned so I had to practically convince him to eat the Saltine crackers and sip ginger ale. I stayed busy keeping the house in order and playing nurse all day to pass the time away. The lights still didn't come back on and with Punk so under the weather, any chance of picture taking was out of the question but as the hours grew later, daylight was fast turning into darkness and with not even the street lights on for guidance, I found some candles and lit them to illuminate the loft. My biggest fears came true as it was starting to feel colder inside.

"Everything okay with you?" I asked as I felt like he was looking at me.

"I'm cool. It's just that I thought the power would be back on by now."

"Yeah, me too," I glanced out the window again.

"It's getting cold as fuck in here and it's only gonna get worse if the heat doesn't come back on."

He had a point, I made sure Pepsi was okay, then I leaned back on the loveseat and just waited. We were quiet for a while and eventually I dozed off. An hour or so later, I woke up and there was still no electricity. I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to fight off the chill in the air.

"Punk, can I get you anything?" I asked.

"I'm good," he coughed loudly. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

He pulled the blankets closer to his body.

"You cold?"

"Nah," I lied, not knowing why.

I could see that look on his face across the room and I knew I had been busted.

"Cynthia, it's like 34 degrees outside and we haven't had any heat in here for like five hours. You don't even have a blanket over there."

"I'm alright."

"This couch is kind of big. I mean, you could get on the other end if you want, you know, share the covers and stuff."

I felt my body stiffen. I was freezing but the thought of lying cuddled on the couch next to Punk and just the mere fact that he had offered, had my heart racing, I suddenly felt so awkward and unsure of myself.

"I, I, um, I don't want to bother you," I croaked.

"Don't be stupid. You're not bothering me. Just be careful about getting this crud. I don't want you to get sick, too."

"I'll be fine," I assured him as I scooped up Pepsi and settled onto the other end of the sofa.

My sock clad feet brushed against his bare ones. I pulled my knees further into my upper body and tried to relax.

"Roughing it in Wicker Park," he chuckled. "Who would have thunk it?"

I smiled at his attempt at a joke.

"I just hope the power comes back on soon. I don't want to freeze to death."

"It'll take a while for that to happen, trust me."

I winced.

"That's comforting."

"What? You act like you've never had your electricity turned off."

"I haven't."

"You say that like it's a normal thing."

"Isn't it? I mean…"

Punk shrugged it off.

"I grew up poor," he stated matter of factly. "There were hard times. We couldn't always afford cable or extra stuff. Me and my brother and sisters hardly ever got new clothes for school and stuff like that. Don't get me wrong, we were never homeless or anything but money was tight most of the time. I remember as a little kid having the lights turned off a few times. It was never more than a few hours except for this one time it was overnight but we made it through. No big deal."

"Wow," I commented softly.

"Let me guess…you grew up rich, huh?"

I laughed out loud.

"Far from it. We weren't poor but we always had enough, always got by," I responded honestly. "There was always food on the table and my parents worked hard. We had a nice house."

"You got brothers and sisters?" he asked.

I nodded in the darkness.

"Yes. Two brothers, two sisters. I have one older sister."

"Everybody still back in Minnesota?"

"My mom is actually out in North Dakota now, living with her sister. She and my dad are in the middle of a divorce."

"Really?" Punk's voice peaked with interest.

"Yeah. They've been married for like 34 years and all of a sudden, it's just over one day. It was weird…shocking. Then I, um, I found out Dad had a girlfriend and I don't know…"

Punk was quiet for a few seconds.

"That's tough. I mean, I don't know the details and stuff but it sounds like all this kind of came out of the blue. For what it's worth, sorry you had to deal with the bullshit. My folks split up too. It happened when I was much younger and even though everybody was better off, it was hard."

I sighed. I hadn't talked about this with anyone but somehow sitting in the darkness made me feel extremely comfortable with Punk. The words seemed to just roll out of my mouth.

"It is easier for me to deal with because I am not there, you know? Like if I still lived in Minnesota like my brothers and sisters, I would be there every day and it would be in my face and I would have no choice. I, um, I don't even know if I could handle that. In Connecticut I am in my own little world and work keeps me so busy. I am thankful for that. And yeah, I do wish my parents were still together but I am very close to my grandparents on my mom's side. I spent a lot of time with them growing up and we still keep in contact on a regular basis. They're great people and have really helped me out with this."

I don't know what I expected him to say and immediately afterwards, I felt kind of silly for just spilling my guts like that. He was thoughtfully quiet for a minute.

"It sucks but your grandparents sound like pretty cool people so I'm glad you have someone to be there for you."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

I was sure glad I had my grandparents, too. But in that moment, it was nice to have Punk, too. In a week and a half, we had spent a lot of time together and had really gotten to know one another. It was the most time I had spent with a man in a long time…possibly ever. We had a weird dynamic but it hadn't taken long for me to become accustomed to his quirks, mood swings and sarcasm. Maybe it was just me, but we'd become quite the team. Initially I had dreaded that assignment like the plague but now I couldn't imagine life without him. The thought of going back to Stamford, back to the office, back to my regular, boring, and uneventful life, made me really sad.

It was like living someone else's life. It was scary and fast paced and chaotic and everything I wasn't. Once I had gotten a taste of it, I felt like it was what I was meant to do and Punk was a huge part of that. He was funny and sweet when he wanted to be and everything from his career to his lifestyle was intriguing and interesting. He was intelligent too and I liked that. I found him incredibly sexy. All the piercings and tattoos just added to the myth of the bad boy appeal. Being backstage around the ridiculously good looking John Cenas and Randy Ortons, someone like Punk could get lost in the mix but there was something quiet and brooding and refreshingly ordinary about his looks. I guess I was physically attracted to him and had been for a while. It had been a long time since I'd had a boyfriend, since I had been cuddled up next to someone on a couch, if you could call our shivering and awkward toe brushes cuddling. But in the stillness of the blackout, it was sort of like my own little pretend world. Maybe in another life, Punk would be attracted to a girl like me and we could be together, be happy, A smile crept to my lips as I shifted and my foot brushed against his ribcage. I closed my eyes. A girl could dream, couldn't she?

"Alright. About damned time," I heard Punk mutter.

My eyes opened and I saw that the lights were back on. No more cuddling on the couch, no more dreaming of what could be. And soon we would go back to our separate lives. When the lights came on, the sadness of reality came rushing back.


	13. Day XI

"Are you ready?"

I peered over my glasses at Punk who was as giddy and excited as a little kid on Christmas morning.

"I guess so."

He frowned.

"A little more enthusiasm, please. Damn. I am taking you to the eighth wonder of the world, the best in Chicago, probably the best in the country, hell, could be the best in the world comic book store. I'm talking about the widest most diverse collection. Old stuff, new stuff, rare stuff…it's a collector's wet dream, trust me."

"I see."

He rolled his eyes at my lack of excitement.

"Try not to bust an ovary, why don't you?"

I sighed. I was more than happy to keep my ovaries right where they were. It was a bright and clear Wednesday morning and Punk was feeling much better. It was a new day. The blackout just 24 hours before was behind us and apparently so was Punk's short but deadly bout with the flu. His fever had gone away and except for the lingering cough, he was back to his old sarcastic self. It was heartbreaking seeing him so miserable with the chills and aches but I had to admit it had been nice taking care of him. He needed me and that felt good. But Wednesday he had awakened me in a surprisingly good mood, informing me that he felt better. A new comic had come out and he wanted to check it out so he invited me. I jumped at the chance to tag along and had my trusty camera in tow. Reading and enjoying comics was a part of Phil Brooks' life and my sole job was to capture his life in pictures.

We walked around the store and his eyes lit up as he seemingly forgot that I was with him. For the moment I wasn't offended. Instead, I just followed him around, quietly studying the scene around me. The place wasn't crowded early on a weekday. The clerks inside gave him a nod as he had been a regular customer for years. And the other shoppers largely ignored him. It was a place where he could just be and enjoy one of his favorite past times. For once, someone else got to be the larger than life hero. I stayed back, letting him have his space as I clicked away. I got a couple good shots of him leaning down to browse a lower shelf and one really great one of him with this huge genuine smile on his face.

"So how long have you liked comics?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

He didn't even look up at me.

"Ever since I can remember. We were kind of poor when I was growing up so getting ahold to one of these was a real treat, if you know what I'm saying. So I read every single one I could get my hands on, even the ones that sucked ass."

"Have you always liked to read?"

He nodded.

"Reading and sports were my thing. Maybe that's why bullies liked to spit on me and tease me and kick my ass for the hell of it. We couldn't afford books either so I went to the public library a lot. I was always reading, mostly graphic novels and stuff. Used to annoy the shit out of my mom."

"That's odd. Most moms would be happy that their kid had their nose in a book instead of pressed up to a TV screen."

"Yeah? My mom wasn't most moms. We were far from the Cleaver's."

"But you guys are cool now?"

I sort of just blurted out the question, my sheer curiosity getting the best of me. He didn't get mad though. I was surprised when he answered me.

"Oh yeah. It wasn't always puppies and rainbows back in the day but what can you do?"

"I don't know," I half shrugged.

He picked up a comic and thumbed through it before putting it back.

"I remember one time I was at school, it was probably around the sixth or seventh grade. And there was this graphic novel that had just come out and I really wanted it but of course we didn't have the money. This kid in my class, his name was Kyle Douglas, that little rich bastard always got everything. Anyway he brought it to school and decided he didn't want it anymore and he offered to give it to me. Just like that. Man, I was so happy. That made my year. And I took it and read it over and over again. I couldn't put the damned thing down. Me and my brother and little sisters all had chores to do and I think it was my turn to take out the trash or something and I put it off because I was reading my graphic novel. And my mom had told me three or four times to do it and I just couldn't put it away. So she busts in my room and she's yelling at me and making this huge deal about it and I was trying to explain but it was no use. She was so mad and she looked at me with this mean look and this stinking cigarette dangling from her mouth and she goes, 'you're always reading some goddamned book'. I never forgot that, you know? And at that moment I just hated her for it. We never had money for vacations or toys or extra stuff but there was always money for my parents' beer and cigarettes and other stupid shit."

He told the story with a soft voice as he seemed to be reliving that one seemingly minor incident from his childhood that had obviously affected him deeply. I was touched that he shared that with me even though he probably didn't mean to. I simply nodded as he went back to his browsing. I took a few more pictures and we went our separate ways, wandering throughout the aisles. I looked halfheartedly but content, letting him have his time.

"Hey."

I looked up and saw a tall, thin guy with longish blonde hair and an unkempt goatee.

"Hello," I said.

"Looking for something in particular?"

I smiled.

"Not really. I'm actually just here with a friend."

"I saw you."

"Oh," I said, shifting my weight.

He was quiet for a minute.

"A friend, huh? So he's not your boyfriend?"

I blushed at the mere notion.

"Him? No. Um, no, we're just...you know. He's a friend," I cleared my throat.

The man grinned.

"That's good to know."

"Why is that?" I made a face.

"Well, I've been watching you and I thought you were really cute. I'm a big comic guy. I try to come in here every week and it's not often a guy like me runs into a girl like you."

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

I walked a few feet down the aisle. My new would be suitor followed.

"So are you from here?"

"Um, no. I, I live in Connecticut but I'm from Minnesota."

"Cool," he nodded. "So what brings you to Chi Town?"

"Work."

"You're a photographer," he motioned down to my camera.

"Yeah."

"That's neat. It's all art, you know? I dig that."

"Yeah…"

He was nice enough but it was starting to get uncomfortable. I wasn't used to attention from strangers, especially men.

"So what's your name?" he asked.

"Cynthia."

"That's a pretty name."

I stared at the floor not knowing what to say.

"Well, um, it was nice meeting you but I have to go…" I stammered.

I turned to leave but he stopped and pulled my arm.

"Wait…"

I jumped at his touch.

"I really should go. My friend is probably looking for me."

"Can I get your number, Cynthia?"

I gave a nervous smile.

"I am really busy with work and I'm not gonna be in town long."

"That sucks but I'd like to make the most out of your time here. Would you like to get some coffee?"

"I don't think so. Uh, thank you but I'm sorry…"

He wrinkled his nose.

"I see. I mean, who was I to think I had a shot? I'm just a regular guy, an average Joe. I'm not a big time roided out wrestler."

"Excuse me?"

Maybe he did know who Punk was. If so, he still knew nothing about him.

"Women are all the same," he vented out loud.

This was starting to get way too weird.

"Um, have a nice day."

"Wait…"

This guy wasn't giving up by any means.

"Listen, sir…"

"I may not be rich or famous and on TV every week but I'm a nice guy and you seem like a nice girl. I think we'd have fun hanging out."

"I don't think so. Sorry."

I went to leave again and he grabbed my arm, this time more forcefully.

"That's rude to turn your back when I'm talking to you. Don't be a bitch."

I couldn't believe what he had just said to me.

"I'm not…wow, just please get your hands off me and please leave me alone."

He wouldn't and he didn't.

"Hey I'm still talking to you."

"What the fuck is this?"

We both looked up as out of nowhere Punk was now standing right in front of us. I was relieved to see him.

"Punk…"

Punk looked at me, the guy, then back at me. He was not amused.

"We have a problem here?"

The guy brushed him off.

"Yeah you and your stuck up friend here. I'm trying to talk to her."

Punk straightened his posture.

"Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you."

The strange man scoffed.

"She can speak for herself. Besides she said you're not her boyfriend."

"What's it to you?" Punk went into full Punk mode as only he could, crossing his arms.

"Look, dude, I know you're a big and bad rassler and all but I don't want any trouble."

"Could have fooled me. You're acting like a real douche and you're bothering my friend. Is that your deal? Going around harassing random women who don't want to be pestered to death?"

It was the man's turn to fold his arms.

"Really? Well, let's the lady be the judge of that."

Punk smirked. He was pissed but a part of him was enjoying it.

"That sounds like a great idea. Obviously you're not as dumb as you look. Cynthia, you, heard this jackhole. You be the judge. Is this asswipe bothering you?"

I felt awkward but it was what is was.

"Kind of," I mumbled.

"That's good enough for me," he said before turning to our newly acquired friend. "The lady has spoken and I think you heard her loud and clear. In case you didn't, let me spell it out for you. That means get lost, pal."

"Really and what are you gonna do about it?"

Punk laughed out loud.

"Besides kick your teeth in and make you go to sleep?"

"Whatever. Everybody knows that wrestling bullshit is fake anyway. And who are you anyway? Just some homo, steroid using freak who couldn't get a real job?"

Punk inched closer to the loud mouth who for some odd, unknown reason had decided to insert himself into our outing.

"Nah, I'm just the guy that's gonna beat your face in," he clenched his fists.

The man sensed the severity the situation had reached.

"Whatever. It's not worth the trouble," he sneered, before shooting me the evil eye. "On second thought, you're not that cute."

I felt my cheeks burn a bright red. Not that I was interested in the loser and his opinion shouldn't have mounted to a hill of beans but for some reason his rude comment stung my feelings, if only for a minute. I felt humiliated in front of Punk. But before I could even process it all, Punk had lunged forward and gave the guy a hard shove. I gasped as the worrisome stranger stumbled backwards.

"Hey!" he yelled.

"Disrespect my friend again and I swear on everything I love that I'll clobber your sorry ass senseless."

"Fuck you, man."

"You want some?" Punk stood his ground.

The guy made it to his feet and hurried off like a scalded dog. A few people stared over our way but Punk ignored them. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might jump out of my chest.

"Are you alright?" I finally asked.

Punk just shook his head.

"I'm fine. You?"

"Yeah…"

"That guy was a jerk, a real idiot."

"I can't believe he did that," I bit my lip. "And I…I, I can't believe you did that, stand up for me, I mean."

He shrugged it off.

"You're my friend. I'll do anything for my friends."

"You didn't have to but thank you. That was sweet."

I was still shaking.

"Let's get out of here, go get something to eat. You hungry?"

"A little, I guess."

I shoved my hands in my pocket and wordlessly followed him out of the store. We walked a few blocks, Punk chewing on a piece of gum, me trying not to cry as the heartless words of a cruel stranger played inside my head over and over again.

"Pretty much every place is gonna start serving lunch soon. What do you feel like? Sandwiches, Italian, Chinese, what?"

"Whatever you want," I mumbled.

He was walking ahead but at the sound of my voice he stopped and turned, furrowing his brow.

"Everything okay?"

"Sure," I avoided his stare.

"Cynthia, don't lie to me. What is it?"

"Punk, I'm fine."

"The hell you are. Are you still thinking about dick face back there?"

"It's cool. It just…"

"What?"

"I don't know. The whole situation was just…strange. He was kind of aggressive and well…scary. I couldn't figure out why he was so interested, then when he said what he said…"

"Which part?"

I was embarrassed.

"You know…the last part, when he said I wasn't that cute."

Punk looked right at me before laughing out loud. I felt like I wanted to die.

"Really, Cynthia?"

"Gee, thanks…"

I felt tears of humiliation threatening to fall. I kicked away at the cement covered curb of the sidewalk.

"Are you crying?' he questioned.

"No. There, there's something in my eye."

"Okay," he gave me a knowing look. "That's cool cause it would be pretty lame if you were crying now. If you're letting some stupid shit some weirdo asshole said get to you especially when you know it's not true. You're a pretty girl, Cynthia. I know it, you know it, and he knows it. That's why he was hitting on you in the first place. When you didn't give him the time of day, it crushed his ego and that's why he spazzed on you. Just forget about it."

I was speechless for a second.

"You…you think I'm pretty?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't make a federal case about it but yeah, you're not what they would call facially challenged."

A small smile crept to my lips. It was about as close to a compliment I was going to get.

"Thank you, Punk," I said softly. "That means a lot."

And it did.

"Yeah, yeah. Now get over yourself so we can go grub. This growing boy is starving," he rubbed his stomach for emphasis.

We walked side by side around the corner to one of his favorite hole in the wall diners. My heart was still pounding but this time for a different reason. CM Punk aka Phil Brooks thought I was pretty. That made me as giddy as a schoolgirl. And whether he really meant it or was just trying to make me feel better after a crummy day, regardless it was a kind gesture that I appreciated greatly. He said he would do anything for his friends and after the morning we'd had, he definitely proved it.


	14. Day XII

Punk and I struggled to balance the grocery bags we were carrying. The store was just down a few blocks so he had insisted we walk for the exercise alone. We'd had a good few days back in Chicago. He had fully recovered from his brief bout with the illness as I had gotten over the events of the day before with the jerk in the comic book store, well sort of. I was still hurt and I was embarrassed but Punk had made no mention of it since. That made it slightly less mortifying. And I was still flying high over the fact that he had so gallantly raced to my defense.

Spending all that time with him was becoming bittersweet. When I was first given the assignment, I had approached it with dread. He was sarcastic and blunt and more than irritated by my presence. It was also clear he was going through something, seemingly at a crossroads with his career. But despite the gruffness, there was a really sweet and amazing guy underneath. He was real, no frills and no crap. That had scared me at first but two weeks later, it endeared me to him more than anything.

When you thought about the hot guys of the WWE, most people automatically thought about John Cena or Randy Orton. Not to take anything away from them, but CM Punk was a different animal. He was a good looking guy with a great smile and infectious laugh. He wasn't some larger than life enigma but rather an average Joe, the kind of person you took a look at and thought he'd be an awesome big brother or guy you'd want to pull up a chair and have a conversation with. There was also an undeniable charm about him. I had liked him right away and in turn, wanted him to like me back. When he was nice to me or praised me or smiled at me, it gave me the best feeling in the world. I was always the mousy girl, the bookworm, the nerd, the shy and awkward workaholic. I'd only had one real boyfriend before. And Punk was surrounded at work by some of the most beautiful women in the world and the minute he walked outside of that magical WWE life, thousands more equally gorgeous girls were there to throw themselves at his feet with the hopes of somehow making it to his bed. It's not like I had a chance anyway and I had accepted that but those few days, especially after he got sick, it was fun to pretend.

It was a low key Thursday. We had a flight out at four a.m. the next morning. I spent most of the morning on my laptop logged into WWE Corporate and Global, working from home. He had been in and out, at the gym, visiting friends, and running errands and paying bills. Somehow it came up that we would eat dinner in. The fridge and cupboards were looking pretty bare so it called for a quick run to the market. We playfully disagreed about what to buy and the mood just felt so right. In that moment, it was easy being around him and my mind wondered for a few fleeting seconds about what it would be like to be that way with him all the time. I went back and forth but truth be told, I had really fallen for Punk.

It could never be. He would never feel the same way. Besides, I was being unprofessional and immature. I still had a job to do and an important one at that. I had some great shots but there were still more to get. We had the rest of the day, Friday and Saturday. Come Sunday, I would be on a plane headed back to Connecticut. I don't know how I felt about that but it did make me a little sad. Living that life on the road, being thrust in the middle of the excitement that was the RAW brand, and hanging out with Punk like old friends was the polar opposite from my usual meek and boring existence. For 14 days, I had lived a fairytale like an out of body experience and in just a few days it was scripted to come to an end. I didn't know how I felt about that and thinking of it constantly only brought about pangs of anxiety so instead I chose to focus on the time that we did have left.

"You got it?" Punk asked as he looked over his shoulder as I walked slightly behind him.

"I'm good."

"Yeah right with those little ass arms of yours. Hang in there, kiddo, you're looking kind of weak. Here's hoping the tilapia holds out longer than you."

I rolled my eyes and fought back a smirk as we made our way into the building of luxury apartments in the trendy Wicker Park section of the city he lived in. Just as we turned the corner, I saw the elevator doors starting to close.

"Oh no," I whined.

"Hey Miss, can you hold that for us?" Punk shouted out.

The stranger inside must have heard because the door stopped and opened. Inside the roomy space, was a woman I had never seen before. She smiled and balanced a little baby on her hip. Wearing a pink sleeper, a few strands of blonde hair barely covered her little head. She had big expressive blue eyes and a small puddle of drool on the corner of her lip.

"Thank you," I smiled.

"No problem. Those look heavy. I like shopping at the Fresh Market. They have the best fish selection this side of Chicago. I can't wait until it gets warmer. I have a to die for grilled lemon Mahi Mahi recipe."

"Sounds nice. We were just going to broil some tilapia tonight," I said before nervously glancing over at Punk, who simply shrugged.

"Mmmm. Sounds delicious."

"So is this your daughter?" I asked.

"Cara Marie," she stated proudly.

"She is so beautiful. How old is she?"

"Thank you. Seven months."

I smiled at the little girl but she looked right through me. Her eyes were focused right on Punk. She looked at him and cooed and then broke out into a fit of baby giggles. I saw him raise an eyebrow before reaching out and playing with her little hand. She latched on to his much bigger finger.

"Hey cutie," he said in a soft voice.

Watching him with the baby was heartwarming. He seemed so at ease, so natural and children just adored him.

"She likes you," the woman commented just as the car stopped. "Oh well. This is our floor. You two have a good night."

She stepped off and Punk waved as they left. The elevator then arrived shortly at the next floor and that was our stop. He fumbled with the keys for a few seconds until we were back in the loft.

"Home sweet home," Punk dumped the groceries on the counter and pulled the sleeves up on his hoodie. "You ready to get cracking?"

I nodded and smiled and began pulling out various ingredients and cooking utensils. We moved about the kitchen getting everything ready as we started making dinner together. It felt nice and so lost in the moment, I even began humming. He made a face and I caught myself.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"What the hell are you so giddy about?"

"I'm not giddy."

"You could have fooled me. This whole time you have been over there grinning like a Cheshire cat."

"Nothing," I shrugged. "I'm just in a good mood. And you are too even if you don't want to admit it. That baby, Cara, was so cute."

"Yeah. She was a little ham. She's gonna be a heartbreaker in a few years."

"You are so good with kids and they just love you. You're like the Pied Piper or something."

"I don't know about all that."

"I'm sure you're a pretty awesome big brother. You have two sisters and a brother, right?"

"Yeah."

"I see the pictures around of I guess your sisters but you don't have any of your brother. You don't talk about him at all."

"Yeah? Well, there is a reason for that," Punk answered as he began preparing the marinade.

"Oh," I said awkwardly.

After a few minutes, he sighed, his gaze never meeting mine.

"Mike and I were pretty close growing up. I mean, ever since I was five, I've known I wanted to be a professional wrestler. We actually wrestled together in this little backyard federation called Lunatic Wrestling. Me, him, some of our friends put it all together. Anyway, things were going pretty okay and I was dead serious about it and come to find out, Mike embezzled all the money I had saved and put into it."

His voice and demeanor did not change but this revelation was obviously a big deal and I could tell that it troubled him deeply.

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope. Haven't talked to the guy in like ten years and that sucks but truthfully, if it stays that way for another ten years, wouldn't bother me a bit. I don't give a hot fuck."

I shifted my weight uncomfortably.

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"But he's your brother."

"So what?"

"So…that's blood. He's family."

Punk adamantly shook his head.

"Blood and biology is not what constitutes a family, Cynthia. It's about the people you love and the people you trust and those that have your back no matter what. That's what makes a family a real family so I have a lot of family members if you look at it that way. Whenever it came to something I really wanted to do, I have always had to outsource for support. The people who were willing to accept me with open arms weren't blood related to me. To me, that's what family is. Family supports you. The only thing my brother ever did to me was steal a shit load of money from me."

"What about your parents? Do you talk to them?"

It was a sensitive situation and it was probably best that I quit while I was ahead but now he had my curiosity peaked.

"Yeah, I talk to them. I love my mom and dad. I've had my issues with them in the past and I doubt we'll ever see eye to eye on everything and that's okay. I used to have a lot of resentment towards them for a lot of stuff but I learned to let it go. And looking back, I don't regret anything or wish I could change stuff because of all that led me to where I am today and made me the man I am now."

"How so?"

"The whole time we were growing up, my father was a raging alcoholic. It was pretty bad."

"Did he…"

He was being so open and candid with me and I was intrigued. He seemed to know what I was going to ask before I did.

"No. He never put his hands on my mom or any of us kids. It was nothing like that but it was a ridiculous lifestyle. He was a drunk, my mother had her damned prescription pills…it just didn't make sense to me. We never had a lot of money and I grew up really poor. I already told you about them spending all of their money on cartons of cigarettes and stuff like that and I didn't understand how if we were broke and we couldn't afford Christmas presents, why could you smoke all of those cigarettes? It's not like they are making you better…they are killing you. It seemed real idiotic to me. Just a bunch of stuff strained our relationship over the years but I got over it. I just kind of lived my own life and did my own thing. My dad quit drinking eventually and now we get along okay. And I love my mom. We have a relationship now but it is what it is."

"So that's what made you want to be Straight Edge…"

"I just really identified with that sub-culture, you know? It's not a gimmick for me, it's a commitment. It's a way of life. It is who I am. There have been three constants in my life…wrestling, punk rock and straight edge. It isn't for everybody and the last thing I want to do is be preachy but it works for me."

"Wow…" I said softly.

Punk chuckled.

"Don't do it."

"Don't do what?" I asked, confused.

"Pity me. Damn, I see that look on your face. It's okay, Cynthia. I'm okay. It's not a sob story. I don't want you or anyone else to ever feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you," I said as I begin stirring the sauce as if it was the most important thing in the world. "I, I look up to you. I think you're amazing, Punk. You really stick to your beliefs and despite what you've been through, you're so strong and opinionated and you're living your dream when probably nobody thought you could. That's pretty cool."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome."

He was standing so close to me. You know how there's that moment in the movies when the shy, awkward girl hints at her feelings to the sexy, popular guy and he realizes how great she is and they share this special moment when it is no one in the world but just them and he inches closer and their eyes meet with pounding hearts and they have this toe tingling yet oh so romantic kiss?

"Cynthia?" he breathed.

I bit my lip, bracing myself for what was coming next.

"Yes, Punk?" I whispered, grabbing the counter for support.

"Can you pass me the salt?" he asked before turning his back.

Obviously, that was not one of those moments.

"Sure, Punk," I cleared my throat and handed him the shaker.

I was losing it, getting more and more delusional by the hour. But that was okay. As pathetic as it sounded, I was just happy to be around him. And I knew he felt something for me, too. It might not have been in the romantic sense but he trusted me and was obviously starting to become more comfortable with me. Maybe that was the kind of relationship he didn't have with those beautiful Divas and groupies. Maybe that was the one thing he had been missing all along.


	15. Day XIII

With only two days left on my assignment, I wanted to get as many pictures of Punk as possible. We made our flight on time and landed still early in the morning. He was scheduled for a long day of media appearance promoting the upcoming Wrestlemania event and though he was tired, he was as good of a sport about the whole thing as possible. At least he didn't bite my head off and was pretty easygoing with all the deejays, interviewers and anchors. I kept snapping away. It was an interesting view for me. I hid behind my lens and whenever I took a photo, it was a closer look into CM Punk/Phil Brooks' soul. No matter the name he went by, the man inside was the same. I knew how much he loved his job, how he knew that even the redundant interviews with people reading so called facts about him from his Wikipedia page that they had printed off probably ten minutes before we stepped in the door. I studied Punk's eyes and for the first time took notice of a weariness that went beyond physical. I saw real disconnect.

"Where to next?" I asked as we climbed back inside the rental for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

Punk rolled his eyes.

"New Orleans," he muttered. "Don't you pay attention? I swear, you've already asked me like a hundred times. You're worse than one of those damned Furbies. You just don't stop."

He was annoyed but not at me. I chalked it up to the chaos of the day and shrugged it off. If nothing else, at least I was gaining a much thicker skin from my whole experience. I had gotten used to Punk and his quirky ways and there was a quiet comfortableness between us that I knew I was really going to miss. Time was ticking away and though I had vowed over and over not to think about it, in fact, it was all I had thought of. Those simple moments in the car with rock music blasting from the speakers were the moments in time I wished I could just freeze forever. I cracked the window and let the air blow against my face. I closed my eyes, resting in the sweetness of my own thoughts until I heard a loud and funny noise followed by a few choice four letter words from Punk.

"What's wrong?" I frowned.

"It's the car," he mumbled as he pulled off onto an exit.

We were in the middle of nowhere it seemed in Louisiana, one of those small, quaint one street towns. Punk popped the hood and stepped out. He was gone for a while and finally I got out too. It was something so wildly sexy about him with his sleeves rolled up tinkering with the car.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

My voice was rather throaty and he looked up and shot me the most irritated look I had seen to date.

"If you take a picture right now, I swear to God I am breaking that stupid camera."

I kicked at the pavement.

"I wasn't gonna," I whined.

Though it would have been a hell of a shot.

"Looks like a fuel leak," he ignored me. "It's weird, you'd usually see this in older model cars."

"Can you fix it?"

"Do I look like a mechanic?"

"Well…"

He rolled his eyes, wiped his hands on his jeans and pulled out his phone. I heard muffled arguing with who I assumed was the rental company. A few minutes later he hung up.

"This is bullshit."

"What did they say?"

"A lot of nothing and lame apologizing that is absolutely not helping our situation right now. Another car is coming but it might be a few hours."

"That sucks. What do we do now?" I asked.

Punk sighed.

"We wait."

"Okay. I just thought with a whole day of traveling the state for media, the WWE would have had a car and driver available for you anyway. I thought that was protocol."

Punk just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, they're supposed to but shit like that is reserved for the top guys in the company, the Ortons and the Cenas."

There was really nothing else to do and I sensed his frustration. According to the GPS, we were still two hours from New Orleans. The sun would be setting soon and I was getting kind of hungry. Down the street there was a mom and pop diner. I couldn't leave all my equipment in the car, so I packed up the camera and accessories and hauled it, with his help, a half block or so to eat. We sat and ordered off the menu that served breakfast 24 hours a day. Punk had lightened up a little bit by then and we were talking about random things.

"Food's good," I observed.

"Yeah," he said between mouthfuls. "If lard is your thing."

"Why are you so mean?" I questioned.

His eye twinkled a bit at the insinuation.

"I'm a jerk. It suits me. What can I say?"

I smiled at him.

"I don't think so."

"Yeah? Well, what do you know?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I've gotten to know you in the past two weeks. And I think you are a really good guy. I think you're nice and sweet and deep down a big Teddy Bear but you don't like everyone to see that. Only certain people see it and even then, not all the time and not at first. You're a sensitive, loyal, heart on your sleeve kind of guy."

His eyes quietly studied mine for a bit before he nodded slightly and wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Literally," he replied.

"What?"

He pointed to his arm where a heart had been tattooed.

"Heart on my sleeve," he repeated.

"Oh. I never noticed that one," I smiled.

My hand was shaking a little bit as I reached over and let my fingertips glide over some of his exposed artwork. His tattoos were nice, a colorful barrage of years of storytelling imprinted permanently against his body.

"You have any ink?" he asked

"Me?" I shook my head. "No."

He looked amused as he sipped from a glass of Pepsi.

"Why not?"

"I, I don't know. Besides the fact that my family would disown me?" I gave a small grin. "It just never caught on, I guess."

"Okay," he nodded.

"What about you?" I asked. "Why do you have so many?"

Punk leaned back in the booth.

"These aren't just decorations, you know. They are declarations, so to speak. I always say that. Everything I love, everything I believe in, everything that is really important to me is referenced somewhere on my body. The straight edge moniker across my stomach, drug free written on my knuckles, all of them…"

"That's cool."

"I almost feel sorry for you."

"Why?" my eyes widened as I took the immediate defense.

"You and everybody else that doesn't have tattoos. Maybe it means that you don't believe in something, anything that strongly."

He had struck a nerve and like when he usually did, I became flustered and was at a loss for words. So I turned it back on him because I was tired of talking about me.

"So, um…what's your favorite one?" I asked.

He grinned a real grin, something he did not do too often. I loved it whenever he did.

"The one behind my ear, without a doubt. It's the number 31 with stars. Each one represents my little brother, my little sisters, and my best friend, Chez. The 31 was the number their jersey number back when they all played sports in school."

"I'm confused. You have the tattoo for Mike…"

"Not Mike. Mike isn't my brother, not anymore."

"But…"

"Charlie is. Look, I never got along with my folks even before the whole money thing happened with Mike. Chez is my best friend. Her family kind of unofficially adopted me. I moved in with them when I was still in high school. That whole family loved and supported me and took care of me. They gave me everything I needed that my bio family didn't. So they are my family now. I don't have anything to say to Mike. Me and my real dad have an okay relationship but we're not super close or anything. The mother that gave birth to me…well, it is what it is."

In that moment, though I know pity was the last thing he wanted, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Punk…"

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna cry or anything," he smirked. "It's all good. That's life, kid. No point in crying over spilled milk. Chez, Charlie, Cassie, Chaleen, and their mom, RaeLisa may not be my blood, but they are my family, my only family."

I swallowed hard as I realized I was still touching his arm. I quickly pulled away.

"I get it," I finally said softly. "I admire that."

"How so?"

"You. You are who you are. You make no bones about that, you don't apologize for any of it. You're strong and you do whatever feels right to you. That is incredibly brave, Punk. I wish I could do that."

"Who's stopping you but you? You have to live for yourself, Cynthia. We only get one life and life is great. It's what you make of it and how you make it work for you. I don't pretend to be something that I'm not, I am nobody's role model, I don't live for other people, and I don't hide my feelings. Maybe that sets me apart, maybe that is what makes me so different from other people. Hell, maybe that's why I never fit in but fuck it. You know, what they say is true."

"What?"

"If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything."

I thought about what he was saying to me. My life was so mundane. Sure I had my dream job and career and I had worked hard to get it, but outside of WWE Corporate, what did I really have? Who was Cynthia McKenzie? Truthfully, I did not know. And I was tired of waking up every morning staring at a reflection in the mirror not even knowing who it belonged to. I had missed out on so much. I wasn't close to my family anymore, aside from my grandparents. I didn't have friends. And I didn't have love. It sucked. I didn't realize how much so until that exact moment. I was lonely. I did hide my feelings and I really didn't believe in anything. I didn't want to live that way anymore. The two weeks on that assignment had opened my eyes and I knew in that instant that it would change my life forever.

"I want to do it with you," I blurted out.

Punk's eyes danced with mischief.

"Then I hope you're at least paying for this dinner tonight."

I rolled my eyes.

"Not that," I fought super hard to suppress a school girl's smile as I motioned out the window to what was located across the street.

Punk's gaze followed mine and his eyebrow raised. It was a tattoo shop.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Why right now? All of a sudden…"

I bit my lip.

"Because you're right. You made me think, you know, about the person I used to be…and about the person I want to be from now on. I don't even know who I am anymore and that kind of sucks. It's not going to change overnight and that's okay, I guess, but it starts here."

"Don't do this for me."

"It's not for you. It's for me. But this assignment opened my eyes. I know I want to change. And I know I want to do something totally fun and crazy and spontaneous. I have never had one impetuous day in my life. I am always the calm one, the smart one. The reliable, quiet, dependable, rational one. For one night I want to be different and if that means having someone etch poisonous ink into my body that will be there for the rest of my life, then so be it. And even if it is the dumbest thing ever, at least I won't have regrets. Because I will look at it and think back on this night, on these two weeks and I will smile because it, it was great. And you were great, Punk."

And there it was. I had only had lemonade with dinner but the way I was talking, you would have assumed someone had spiked it with Vodka. It was the most I had to said to him, the most honest I had been. And it felt damned good, even though he was staring at me like I was a crazy person. Finally, he shrugged, took the last sip of his drink, and laid a couple of bills on the table to cover the tab and leave a more than generous tip.

"Fuck it," he said casually. "Let's go get tattoos."

My heart was about to jump out of my chest. Fuck it.


	16. Day XIV- The Last Day

The street lights from the nighttime city sky cast a perfect glow into my hotel room. My heart was beating, no, pounding so fast that I could literally hear it. It was an amazing night, one of reflection. And let's face it…I had a lot to reflect on.

It had been two weeks, 14 days and nights of more challenges and more adventure than I ever could have dreamed possible. I remembered when my boss had first posed the assignment to me. I had been horrified. It was terrifying, intimidating. Quiet, shy, mousy, ordinary old me venturing from my comfort zone of an office to the hustle and bustle of life on the road. It was a chance to renew my passion for photography but at the expense of living and traveling with the WWE's most volatile and complex Superstar.

I hadn't known what to think. Would he be a jerk? Would he think I was weird? Yes and yes it had turned out, at least some of the time but it hadn't been all bad. In fact it had been great. He was the most wildly interesting and wildly complicated human being I had ever met. It was hard to explain. You never quite knew what you were going to get with him. Sometimes he was a douchebag tough guy. At other times he was clever and sarcastic. There was also a depth and intelligence to him one might not expect from meets the eye. Through it all he was honest and real, thoughtful and incredibly loyal. Phil Brooks/CM Punk was somebody's son. He was a brother. He was a friend. He was an enigma. Fun. Serious. Sweet. A legend. Whether he liked it or not, someone's hero. He had a reputation as fiercely guarded but once he let you into his sacred little circle, it was known that he'd walk across the fire for you…there was nothing he would not do for those he loved.

I dared to think he had let me in but it was true. I had been a semi-permanent invasion in his personal space. I hadn't met his family or his friends other than Scott, which actually made it all the more intimate. It was just me and him and our passions…his wrestling, mine photography. And it had brought us together in a peculiar and unusual professional relationship. In those days he had been unguarded with me. I had seen emotion, I had seen his humor. He had shared things with me that he didn't share with just anyone and I knew on some level, that made me special in his eyes…it had to.

It was funny. My first real feeling upon meeting him was fear. Fear of him and the unknown I had been forced to encounter. But my feeling leaving him was something far different. I didn't know how to sum it up. My brain could not process it…how could I explain it to anyone else? I had a tremendous amount of respect for the man. Not just for his relentless dedication and unwavering work ethic. I also admired the person. And I was going to miss that. I was going to miss him. I would miss his wit and sarcasm. I would miss those looks he gave me when I was starting to get on his nerves…which was actually pretty often. I would miss being around him all the time. I would for sure miss the way he made me felt.

I hadn't had a boyfriend since college and honestly, in the years that had passed, work had kept me so busy that I hadn't really noticed…or minded. Somewhere deep inside was insecurity. Not the kind where low self-esteem ran rampant and I felt unworthy of love. No, it wasn't that at all. I guess I felt…different. Loneliness had become my friend and I was complacent, content with life resigned to the fact that the dream job with the great company was as good as it was going to get for me. I just couldn't imagine finding someone who would be interested in me, the real me. And I hadn't been interested in that many men.

But Punk was different. I liked him. It had started out probably like the thousands of fan girl crushes that followed his every move via television and the Internet. But the difference was, I knew him as more than a character. And he had awakened feelings in me that I didn't know existed. He made me giggle and blush. He was sexy. I liked Phil. I felt like I was really falling for him. In a few hours I was going to get out of that bed and instead of following him to the next show, I was going back to Connecticut. My job was done. The pictorial would soon be complete after some minor editing and arranging. I guess I was supposed to just forget about those two weeks, about our time together. But how could you? How could I? I had traveled the world with this incredibly talented, sexy man who had in that short amount of time educated me, protected me, and made me believe in myself. It was like living, when before I was only existing. I didn't want to _just_ exist anymore.

But I would always have the pictures. I had close to 3000 frames. And I had the memories. Like dinner at his favorite restaurant. Drama at the comic book store. Run ins with the law. The blackout. And maybe the best one of all…at the tattoo shop. I had been the one who had practically dragged him across that street. They had been just about to close but luckily the owner had recognized Punk and had offered to stay open for us. We had spent a lot of time just looking at different designs. He kept telling me to get something that would mean something, something that embodied me. I thought and thought and thought. And then it came to me when I looked at the **DRUG FREE** engraved on his knuckles. Photography had been my first love and that was what had brought us together. Photographers take pictures and CM Punk had been my muse and subject for 14 days. A few times I had done my job and even got him to smile for the camera and a few times in real life. Truth be told, he kept me smiling on the inside and out. And in 40 years if I looked back on those weeks with him, I would smile. So that's what I did.

The five letters were tattooed respectively on each finger of my right hand. It was the first tattoo and unfortunately for me, the fingers were a very sensitive and thus painful spot. It wasn't the worst…like passing a kidney stone bad but it wasn't exactly sitting on your couch, eating your favorite ice cream out of the carton after a massage at the spa either. But I got through it and I managed not to cry. Punk had been all too happy to hop on the other side of the lens and capture that landmark experience for me. In turn, he'd had the word **ROMANCE** tattooed on him. My naïve mind dared think the impossible but as if he was reading it, he quickly informed me that it was a representation of the love he had for his city, Chicago.

Fair enough.

Then he had taken a picture of me holding one of the cameras. It was a black and white shot, close-up not showing my face but focusing on my new tattoo and the inspiration for it. Shortly after that, the rental car company had shown up and gotten us back on the road. We made it to New Orleans. The next day, Punk did some more media and a big Wrestlemania press conference with a few other Superstars. And then we had dinner, the last supper it felt like for me before the match. I felt like I was walking a plank, heading to Death Row itself but I managed to put on a normal face for him. He had been a little nicer that day, more playful, making me feel like he genuinely enjoyed my company. He had walked me to my room and as he was saying good night, a call had come in on his phone. He had mumbled something about it being Beth and then he walked back to his room and that was it. I was left with that wonderful photo he had snapped of me, a ton of great memories, and a pounding heart.

I closed my eyes and turned over on my side. It was late and I needed to get some sleep. I had a long day of travel ahead. It would be nice to get back in my own bed though it wasn't nearly as nice as the plush hotels on the road I had become accustomed to. We were staying in a really nice place but I had felt uneasy from the moment we had stepped in the lobby. I chalked it up to being bummed that it was my last night on the road but the noise I heard next made me quickly think otherwise.

I was lying on my right side facing the window with my back to the door. My anxiety and excitement had started to give way to fatigue and my eyes began to close. I was almost asleep when I heard my door open. My eyes sprang wide open immediately. I was alone in my room and the door was deadbolted from the inside. I was sure of it…but that did little to explain the heavy footsteps I heard on the carpet. My heart was now pounding wildly for another reason and then I heard the bathroom door creak open. Then silence. I summoned my courage to finally get up. When I did, nothing was there but the bathroom door was cracked and I was sure I had closed it before I lay down.

I opened the main door and stepped out into the hall in just pajama bottoms and a sleep tank. I hadn't even grabbed my glasses. My first instinct was to go to the front desk but what the hell was I going to say? They would think I was as crazy as I felt. So I walked to the end of the hall and knocked on a door. To my surprise, Punk opened up right away. He was shirtless and barefoot wearing workout shorts.

"What the hell happened to you?" he frowned. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"Well…" I looked nervously around the corner.

"Cynthia, what is going on?"

"Can I stay here with you?" I blurted out. "Not all night…I mean, just for a little while."

He made a face and opened the door wider to let me in. The TV was on an old episode of Law and Order SVU and the bed was turned back with a graphic novel in the middle of it. I walked in and sat on the sofa, curling my sock clad feet underneath me.

"Okay, I bite. I'll ask one more time. What is going on?"

I sighed, praying I would not sound like a idiot.

"You're not going to believe me…"

"Looks like you got a pretty honest face to me."

"You will think I'm crazy."

"Wouldn't be the first time. Now shoot."

"Okay. I was in my bed going to sleep. Or maybe I was already sleeping. I don't know. At least I hope I was. Anyway, I thought I heard somebody come in the room. But I guess that is kind of impossible seeing how the door was bolted. But it was really weird and kind of scary. So I freaked out and even though it may have been a dream or at least my imagination, whatever it is, I am afraid to go back. You're probably gonna laugh at me, but I felt super weird the minute we got here."

He just stared at me.

"I don't think you're crazy."

"I mean, you see I don't have my glasses on. Maybe…"

"I said you're not crazy."

"What?"

He rubbed his tired eyes.

"Look, I really don't believe in occult and supernatural shit but I had fallen asleep myself and all of a sudden I woke up because these damned kids were playing outside my door. It was loud so I got up and opened the door to yell at them because I am a crabby, old fart and when I did, there was nothing out there…I mean absolutely nothing. And from the time I last heard them until the time I opened that door, they literally had nowhere to go. So I went to the front desk and they said there are no kids here…anywhere in the hotel tonight."

"Oh my God," I said as I felt my skin crawl.

"Yeah. Weird. So needless to say, I can't get back to sleep. Fucking ill-behaved brats…even if they're dead."

"Aren't you scared?"

"No."

"Freaked out a little, even?"

He thought for a second.

"Maybe a little," he admitted.

"Well now, thanks to you, I am scared shitless. Can I please stay in here with you tonight, Punk?"

"Suit yourself," he climbed back in the bed.

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate it. I, um…I didn't know where else to go and I was hoping I wasn't interrupting."

"You are. I am reading and trying to watch Benson and Stabler at the same time so technically you are double interrupting."

"Not that. I mean, Beth. I…"

He looked over at me.

"You thought Beth would be here?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I suddenly felt embarrassed for prying.

"Well, you said things were complicated and I know you guys used to hang out. It is none of my business but the way you guys are when you're around each other..."

"You're right…it is none of your business."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

He sighed.

"We were together. For about a year. It ended three months ago…badly. Co-existing sucks. Happy now?"

I shrugged.

"Maybe…maybe you guys could work it out," I suggested.

He shot me a look, that knowing look.

"No thank you. Exes are exes for a reason, you know."

"Did you love her?"

I don't know where the hell that one came from. To my surprise, Punk just nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Then what happened?"

"I fell in love with someone who was an amazing friend and who I thought was an amazing girl all the way around. I had a lot of respect and admiration for her. It was great. Then one day, I realized that she wasn't in love with me. She was in love with the idea of being in love. I could have been anybody. Beth just wanted a boyfriend. After a while, she became a total douche bag and I wanted out. I made it clear that we were over and apparently she got 'we're on a break' out of that. Anyway, I am friends with Barb and we've always kind of had this friends with benefits thing going on when we weren't seeing other people. We hooked up. Beth heard about it and it has been nothing but needless drama ever since."

I was stunned. I figured he and Beth had seriously dated. But I was shocked to find out about Barb, who was better known by her ring name, Kelly Kelly.

"Oh."

What else could I say to that?

"Yeah."

"That…that's kind of heavy."

"Chicks are crazy and normally I like crazy chicks but this broad is taking it to a whole new level. And as cool as Barb is, now she's coming to me crying. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Wow."

"I'm over women."

I swallowed hard.

"You are?"

Punk rolled his eyes.

"I don't want to say that but yeah, that is kind of how I feel right now."

"It'll get better. Who knows, maybe one day you'll find a nice girl who will really like you for you and there won't be any drama."

I surprised myself with that one but we were in the moment.

"Maybe but I doubt it. Who knows? I'm not even sure cool girls like that exist anymore. I'm tired of the games and the bullshit, you know?"

"Yeah…"

He shook his head.

"Anyway, enough about that crap. I am gonna read for a while, then try to crash. You can hang out as long as you want."

"Okay. Um, thanks."

"Just as long as yous don't try to climb in here and cuddle with me."

I looked horrified.

"I wasn't gonna."

Punk burst out laughing.

"Man, am I gonna miss you. You are such an easy mark, I love it."

My cheeks turned bright red.

"Thanks," I mumbled sarcastically.

"I was just joking. You're alright. Sometimes you get on my nerves. You do ask too many questions. You are ruthless with that damned camera. But in the end…you're pretty cool. And very talented. I'm glad we met. I liked having you around."

My eyes lit up.

"Thanks. Me too. It, it was great. I had a lot of fun."

"You needed it. And when you go back to that stuffy old office in Stamford tomorrow with all those lame suits around and it starts to suck or get too serious, all you have to do is look at your hand and smile."

I looked down and then back into his eyes. Was it incredibly sad that that was the best moment of my life ever?

_**Author's Note: **_**Thanks for the support, guys. Love your reviews and e-mails but before you ask if this is the last chapter, I promise you it is not. It is just the last of Cynthia's 14 days. Believe me, we have a lot more ahead so thank you all again for all the awesome reviews and messages you have left.**


	17. The Old Normal

I looked around my neat little office. It was plain and simple and organized and boring. It was so…me. I sighed as I pushed my glasses back up over my nose. I had been back in Stamford all of two days and it was my first day back in the Corporate office. It was the place that had been my home away from home for the past six months after I had been promoted from partitioned cubicle to private office. It was my comfort zone, the place where I made WWE digital magic happen. It was my sanctuary and it was hard to believe that it had only been two short weeks before that Brian Kalinowski, my boss, had dragged me away from Connecticut mentally kicking and screaming. The last place I wanted to be was on the road, the last person I expected to bond with was CM punk.

But both had happened and surprisingly I had adjusted quite well. I had a new normal and in the process had renewed my passion for photography and started the most unlikely of friendships. It was funny how 14 days could change a life completely. But it had. It had changed everything in every single way.

The last morning had been spent having breakfast and then returning the car back to the rental place at the airport. We checked our bags and walked to our respective terminals. I was shaking on the inside but he hadn't seen it…and if he had, he hadn't let on. It ended with a lasting hug and a genuine smile from him.

"_Thank you for everything, Punk. I had fun."_

It was all I could think to say even though a lot more weighed on my mind and in my heart.

"_It's been real, kiddo. Take care of yourself."_

Those are the last words he had said to me, quite possibly the last words I would ever hear him speak to me. Our time together had come to an end and we had accomplished a lot in our short time together. I had been so nervous to meet him but I was glad I did. And when all was said and done and it was time to leave, leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. I could not explain the sense of emptiness I felt as I boarded a plane back home alone. All I had left was two weeks worth of amazing memories and a tattoo that made me, well…smile.

"Cynthia," my door opened.

I looked up.

"Mr. Kalinowski…"

"Welcome back," he began. "It is nice to see you."

"Thank you. Likewise."

He shook my hand and I returned his shake, feeling slightly self-conscious and hoping that he would not see my new tattoo. The last thing I felt like doing was explaining that one.

"How was everything the last two weeks?"

I smiled nervously.

"Good. Um, it was good. Really good."

"Travel and accommodations were okay?"

"Absolutely, sir. Uh, no problems at all."

He took a deep breath and frowned as he straightened his jacket.

"Good to hear, good to hear. Listen, before we go any further, I have something I would like to say to you, Cynthia."

"Yes sir?"

"I, I would like to apologize…"

"For?" my eyebrow raised.

"It was very important that we got the personal side of Phil Brooks, hence the requirement that you basically had to live with him on and off the road. He can be difficult at times, most of the time, rather, and I am sure it must have been uneasy for you to be in that position."

I could barely contain my smile.

"It was great," I blurted out.

Mr. Kalinowski made a face.

"Excuse me?"

I fake coughed and tried to regain my professional bearings as I could feel the redness burning through my embarrassed little cheeks.

"I mean, it was okay. It was more than okay. What I am trying to say is that it went well."

"Oh?"

"Yes sir. Punk was an absolute gentleman, very accommodating and cooperative, a real ambassador for the company and he made sure I was comfortable at all times. I really appreciate that. We got a lot of work done, I feel like I got a lot of good shots and I hope that you are happy with them. I did get a chance to review a lot of the frames yesterday and I hope, I mean, I think that you will be pleased."

"That is actually what I came here to talk to you about."

I felt my chest immediately tighten. It was a moment of truth. I had been selected for an important assignment and one I knew I was expected to deliver. In all my time on the road, I had been spending so much of it engulfed in my CM Punk experience and the sheer renewed joy of picture taking, that I had conveniently forgotten that I had a lot on the line as well. The thought never crossed my mind that if I messed up, if I did not live up to upper management's expectations that my head might be on the chopping block. But the moment was a nice little reality check and suddenly I felt a rush of panic building inside of me.

"Um…"

"The number of different frames you shot was incredible. There is more than enough material to choose from. We were able to review the stills and I must say that I am impressed."

My mind was reeling and I was trying to figure what in the world to say that I could plead my case but his compliment and subsequent smile caught me right off guard.

"You are?" I questioned.

"Very. Cynthia, you definitely captured the essence of the theme we were looking for. There are a lot of excellent action shots. But the ones of him on off time…at home, in the gym, backstage…when he is out of character…simply exquisite."

I smiled again and this time it was definitely more appropriate.

"Really? Um, wow. Thank you. Really. Thank you, sir. Mr. Kalinowski, that, uh…it really means a lot coming from you."

"Your technique is exceptional."

"Thank you."

I couldn't stop grinning. It was truly a proud professional moment.

"This was a very important assignment."

"I'm sure…"

He smirked.

"Punk's contract expires in July. It is time to renegotiate. We have tried to talk to him for a while and of course, he refuses. Doesn't show up to business meetings, doesn't return phone calls…typical CM Punk behavior, I suppose. That is how talent likes to play the game. It is a bit of a gamble but Mr. McMahon is allowing this ridiculous little game to continue, for reasons unknown."

"I, I don't follow," my eyes narrowed.

"It's a ploy for more money. That is what it comes down to with all of these guys."

The condescending tone in his voice was not lost on me. My boss had a look on his face of pure disdain and it was making me uncomfortable. I felt like he was bad mouthing Punk and that did not settle to well with me.

"I don't think so…"

"Excuse me?"

I shifted uneasily in my seat.

"I mean, that…that doesn't sound like Punk, you know? He's not like a lot of other people. It's just that he doesn't strike me as the type of person that lets money manipulate or control him or his actions and decisions."

Brian Kalinowski looked at me curiously and for a few seconds, time stood still.

"Interesting," he finally nodded. "I do beg to differ though. Bottom line, as a company, the plan is to re-sign him and sometimes that means doing whatever it takes. We take these wonderful pictures you took and put together a nice little commemorative special edition magazine, a calendar, maybe. Put some extra cash in his pockets, give him a little attention. He gets what he wants, quits being a thorn in our sides for the time being, signs a new contract and everyone lives happily ever after."

I bit my lip. They didn't know him at all.

"I, I see."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"He must have been very nice to you. Surprising. Though rumor has it, he does have a certain way with the ladies…"

Really? And what way was that?

"Um, I, I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't really know anything about that…"

"All in all that little stint is over. We can now move on. Back to normal life, so to speak. At least for a few days."

"A few days?"

"Wrestlemania week."

"Yes…"

"Do you have your arrangements for Atlanta?"

"Atlanta?"

He shot me a brief look of exasperation, shades of our friend Punk.

"Yes, Cynthia. That is where Wrestlemania is being held, as you already know. You have been invited to attend the Hall of Fame ceremonies and any other festivities you may be interested in. Of course, it would be customary to attend the actual event Sunday night. Please keep in mind that this is not a complete vacation, there is always work to be done, the business on our end never stops but there are conference calls and you have your laptop. Multi-tasking is something you are used to."

"Yes sir…"

"Very well. Did you have anything for me?"

I nervously chewed the inside of my lip.

"No…"

"Wonderful. Again, thank you for your flexibility, your superb work on the road. Get things cleaned up here for the remainder of the week and I will see you in Atlanta at the Corporate dinner Friday night."

And with that, he was gone. And my head was spinning yet again. I was excited and happy and extremely grateful for the praise. But I had never been invited to Wrestlemania before. And I only had a few days to get ready.

I played with my fingers. Wrestlemania. Wrestlemania! What would I wear? The Corporate dinner would be Jim Ross, John Laurenitis, Vince and Linda McMahon, Mr. Kalinowski, Paul and Stephanie McMahon-Levesque, to name a few…as if that lineup was not impressive and intimidating enough. Then the next night was the Hall of Fame. I would definitely need something to wear for that. Something new. Something pretty. Something new and really pretty.

But more than all that, was the thought of seeing Punk again.

I missed him. I knew I would. I knew that the moment we parted ways but it was different. I more than missed him. My heart kind of ached for him, you know, the way a woman's heart is supposed to ache for a man…her man.

But I wasn't completely delusional. Punk was not my man and I knew that. He had been nice to me. He had tolerated me and I am sure after a few days of having his privacy back, our time together was nothing more than a distant memory for him, just another day at the office, so to speak. I was almost positive he did not miss me, especially like I missed him.

I had done my job. My portfolio was going to be published and to great acclaim. It was a gold star for my career, something Mr. McMahon himself would see and for that I had great reason to be proud. It made my heart pound. But it was the other thing responsible for the butterflies in my belly.

This was my life. The last two weeks had been surreal and the acclamation that would follow would just add to the fairytale. I had thought it was over and truth be told, I did not know how to deal with that. But apparently I had 48 to 72 more hours of magic left. I could be Cinderella again. And that meant I would have a chance to see my prince. One last chance and then it would be time to come to grips to what life had been like for the road. Before meeting CM Punk.

_**Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for the lack of updates, guys. I have a ton of excuses that I won't bother you with but I appreciate your support, patience, and understanding. I am in the process of writing ahead on this and my other stories. That way, you guys don't have to sit around waiting forever on updates…I will be able to update more frequently, as the chapters will already be written. Hope that makes sense and thank you all again!**_


	18. Flying Solo

I navigated through the crowds of Laguardia's international airport with ease. My time on the road had well prepared me for the rigors of baggage claim, rental car hassles, greasy food, and extended layovers. The company had booked me first class non-stop to Atlanta. There was a mechanical delay with my flight and I found myself restless in those extra minutes waiting.

I was excited about the weekend. I had found two nice cocktail like dresses to respectively attend the big Corporate dinner and the Hall of Fame Ceremony. The five star hotel would allot me the unusual luxury of pre-event massages, facials, professional hair and make up. It would be a new experience and something to look forward to. In addition to suitcases full of new clothes, I also had brought camera equipment with me. My passion for photography had been renewed. I saw a photo opportunity in every moment and I felt the need to capture it.

Apparently the plane would be filled to capacity, as there were no seats available in the waiting area. I took a seat on the floor and checked my phone for any last minute text messages from the office. There were none. In a few hours, I would be in Georgia, with barely enough time to prepare for the first event of the evening. But even with the delay, I was still miraculously okay on time. Bored, I played with my phone, scrolling through everything from old text messages to photos. My finger stopped as it glided over a picture of me with Punk. I had forgotten it was on my phone. Ironically, it had been taken in an airport of all places. It was late and we were tired and delayed as usual. Punk's usual crankiness had given way to silliness and he had unexpectedly grabbed the phone and held it in front of us and snapped our goofy albeit exhausted faces.

I smiled. There was a chance I would see him in a few hours. He probably didn't know I was coming. We hadn't talked since we had left each other. And it wasn't like the WWE was gonna give a press release to announce my arrival. I knew his schedule would be insanely busy…crazier than usual so my only chance of seeing him that night would be by a chance encounter, as we were both staying in the same hotel. But the next night, Saturday, he would be at the Hall of Fame. I would be at the Hall of Fame. It would be one of the rare times he would be cleaned up in a suit. I couldn't help but smile and blush like a middle school girl thinking of her secret crush.

Most everyone showed up at the Hall of Fame with a date. I wondered who Punk would be taking. Beth? It seemed unlikely, as things were still weird between them after a difficult breakup. There was always Barb. She seemed like a feasible "go to" girl in that kind of situation. And he had already confessed that they sometimes slept together. But in the same breath, he had also stated there had been recent drama between them and that her constant water works was a little too much for him to deal with. And I am sure he would have mentioned something if he had been planning to fly out one of his sisters or his "adopted" mom or one of his platonic female friends from Chicago. But he had talked about none of that so I could only assume that he would be attending the festivities solo.

In that moment, I forgot what happens when you assume…that you make an a-s-s out of yourself. But I was about to get reminded…

You see, I am one of those people that think about everything. An over-analyzer, if you will. I don't do spontaneous or impromptu. Had I followed my normal course of logic, I would have realized what a wretched mistake I was about to make. But my heart knew that if I had the idea, any thought or logic would have won over and I surely would have chickened out.

Too bad my brain got KO'd by my heart in an instance of unrealistic romantic foolishness.

My finger swiped back to the Contacts section and I hit the "call" icon before I thought about myself. My chest pounded as the phone rang and rang and then finally it was answered.

"Cynthia?"

My breath caught in my throat causing me to awkwardly cough. He knew it was me. Of course he did…my number was saved in his phone under my name and during our time together on the road, we had often had to contact each other. We had spoken on the phone dozens of times before but somehow, this time just felt different.

"Punk?"

Great! Awkward silence.

"This is a surprise…"

I swallowed hard and summoned my nerve.

"Hey. Um…hey, what's going on? How are you?"

"Crabby. Busy. Tired as fuck. You know…the usual."

I chuckled lightly.

"Yeah. I guess I kind of miss it."

"It is what it is. Comes with the territory. Lately work had been a real suck fest but this is pretty much my favorite week of the year."

I knew he loved it. He was weary and growing more and more frustrated by the minute, but deep down, wrestling was his passion…his true love. He would always love it, no matter what. The ring was his home. It always would be.

"That, that's nice…"

"Listen, I'm on my way over to do my Axess event. Almost here. I have media and autograph signings all day. It's crazy. I'm not trying to be a dick or anything but is there something I can help you with?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Um, sorry. Actually, yes…"

I paused, trying to get my thoughts and words together.

"You plan on telling me today?" he asked after a few seconds.

Apparently, I had paused too long.

"Yeah. Um, sorry," I cleared my throat. "I, um, I am actually at the airport right now, Laguardia. My flight leaves for Atlanta in a few minutes. It got delayed for a bit."

"Atlanta?"

"Yes. I was invited to Wrestlemania weekend. There is a big Corporate dinner tonight and all."

I could hear him practically smirking from the other end of the line.

"Sipping champagne and eating caviar with the big boss tonight, eh? Fancy."

"Punk…"

"Hey, I'm not knocking it. Bully for you, kid. Better you than me, though. I'm sure that table is a real snooze."

"Maybe so but it's not like they invite every Corporate employee so I guess, I mean, it is kind of an honor. And I kind of owe it all to you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. They, um, they saw our, my portfolio and they loved it and they have a lot of plans for it."

"Cool," he replied nonchalantly.

"The pictures do look great. I really wish you could have seen them all. Anyway, that's basically why they invited me but I am on my way and I know you are super busy and I promise I won't hold you but…"

"But what? Spit it out, Cynthia."

I took the longest, deepest breath of my life and crossed my fingers.

"So I will be in town still tomorrow night. I have a ticket for Hall of Fame. I know you do, too. So I was thinking, I mean, I was wondering…you know…you're going and I am going so I figured we could like…go together."

There it was. The true definition of balls to the wall. And temporary insanity.

It was quite the exaggerated silence. If a reality camera crew had been tailing us, it would have been the perfect time to cue the cricket chirping soundtrack. For a split second, I thought he had actually hung up on me.

"Together?" he repeated.

"Yeah. No big deal, you know, only if you want to."

He was quiet again and I knew that couldn't be a good sign.

"Nah, I don't think that's a good idea."

My heart sunk. He was known for his bluntness and being straight to the point. You respect a person for shooting it to you straight but nevertheless, it did not take the sting out of the rejection…and rejection was exactly what it was.

"Oh."

That was all I could manage to muster, considering my jaw was still lying on the floor in front of me.

"Look…"

"It's okay. I mean, if you're going with someone else…"

"I'm not."

Great. Perfect! The devastating blow of being dissed was slightly softened with the notion of him having already asked someone else. But now it was painfully and crystal clear that wasn't the case. He just didn't want to go with me. It was like senior prom déjà vu all over again, only a million times more humiliating.

"Oh…okay."

"Anyway, I have to get going but um, I'll probably see you around this weekend."

"Yeah. Sure."

I tried to sound as un-bothered as possible.

"Alright. Later."

"Bye."

And just like that, the call ended. It was over…

I sat on the floor stunned, phone still in my hand. In fact, I almost missed my flight. I was the last passenger to board and I moved about the narrow aisle like a zombie. Finally I plopped on my comfortable and plush seat and buckled the seat belt after a friendly reminder from the attendant. I felt like I had been literally punched in the gut.

It took a lot of courage to make that phone call. It was a real gamble…matters of the heart always are. I just really thought it would work out for the best. My dreams had flashed before my eyes in the exciting seconds before I made that phone call. I saw it all, plain as day. Me getting all dolled up in my new dress. A knock at the door. Punk on the other side in his suit. He would smirk and tell me that I looked nice. Typical Phil Brooks fashion but his true feelings would be in his eyes. And I would look into them, look at him and know that he saw me like he saw Beth and Barb and all the others. Like a real woman.

But reality was much harsher and I felt absolutely sick to my stomach. What a dumb move! I had never been so embarrassed in all my life! What was he thinking at that very moment? I knew he was engrossed at work and busy with the fans so he probably had dismissed the awful conversation as soon as we had hung up but I know he was probably shaking his head and thinking how stupid I was. God, how could I ever face him again?

And the only thing worse than looking like a fool was the actual hurt that I felt. I liked Punk. No, I liked Phil. Liked _really _liked him. And it was more than some innocent crush. I hadn't had a boyfriend since college and I had gotten used to it. Work was my boyfriend. But that was before I had found someone special. A man I admired and respected. The guy who made me feel safe. He made me laugh. We had bonded and I actually thought I had a chance. A real chance. I thought those two weeks together had meant something.

I leaned back in the seat and caught the tear before it had a chance to slide down my face or smear the lens of my glasses. Suddenly excitement for the weekend was replaced by utter dread. Punk was not attracted to me. And the friendship probably didn't mean as much to him as it did to me. Just my luck, we'd get stuck in an elevator together or something. Regardless, my time as Cinderella had come to an abrupt end. It was time to face reality. There was no coach or glass slipper and more importantly, no Prince Charming.


	19. It's Not A Date

The weather in Georgia was beautiful. Excitement filled the air. Fans from all 50 states and countries all over the world had descended upon Atlanta. It was undoubtedly the best week of the year in all of sports entertainment for talent and fans alike. Early Friday afternoon, I had landed at the airport. A black company Lincoln Towncar was waiting to whisk me away to my suite at the Hyatt Regency. I loaded my own bags onto a luggage cart and made my way to the room, smiling politely as I acknowledged several people that I worked with in Stamford and some of the Superstars and Divas I had met during my two weeks on the road.

My itinerary was already full. The highlight of the evening was the big Corporate dinner. We were treated to a five course meal at Bacchanalia, one of the city's most upscale restaurants. Pulling out all the stops as he infamously always did, Mr. McMahon booked the venue for the entire evening for our company's private party. I dressed quickly at the hotel and spent the whole ride over to the restaurant immediately regretting my outfit choice. First of all, it was red. And I do mean red, like fire truck red. The sleeves were loose and came midway down my skinny arms. The bottom skirted part of the dress was fitted. It was made for my body type…tall, thin, and not a whole lot going on in the boob department, hence the exaggerated V neck that made no room for a bra or camisole of any kind. I wore black heels and tried to put some curls in my long brown hair. I did makeup, put on my glasses and awkwardly grabbed the matching hand purse.

It was a festive time. Everyone seemed to be in a great mood and the alcohol flowed freely. The McMahon family spared no expense and when you had their net worth income, you could certainly afford the extravagance. I sat at the table and tried to look like I was having a good time. It's not that I wasn't…I just felt slightly out of place. I spoke when spoken to, grateful that the who's who of WWE Corporate thought enough to extend an invitation to me, much less strike up casual conversation. My night was made when Stephanie McMahon Levesque smiled at me and told me how nice my dress was...in front of everyone.

But as exciting and new as it was, the vibe was still slightly awkward for me. I picked at the fancy food and tried some red wine, which tasted way too bitter and almost immediately made me feel light headed. All in all, the evening went well and I returned to my room alone a few hours later. It had been a surreal night. Lately I'd seem to have had a lot of those. But in the shower, washing out hair sprayed curls and wiping away at drug store mascara, my mind again went back to Punk. Reality set in. I thought about my feelings for him and was saddened when I realized the person I wanted most, the only man that actually made me feel, would never ever see me in the same way that I saw him. Then I thought about that phone call gone horribly wrong. Embarrassment singed my cheeks and tears filled my eyes. How could I have been so rash and stupid?

I sulked myself to sleep that night. I managed to sleep in on Saturday. I had some work to do on the laptop after a late breakfast and then I headed over to the arena to get a look at all the behind the scenes media and digital effects that it took to pull off the biggest night in wrestling history. It was a good time, the place where I felt most comfortable as the computer nerd in me came out full force. I even managed to walk around the city of Atlanta and take some awesome photographs. Then it was back to the hotel and the spa. I was treated to hours of pampering. Full Swedish massage with a deluxe facial and a full body waxing. It was all smooth sailing until that last part. I wasn't much on plucking my eyebrows but the subtle shaping did wonders for my face. Of course I shaved my arm pits and legs on the regular but apparently I was out of touch when it came to the nether regions. "Bare is the new hair," the lady told me. Whatever that meant or maybe I misunderstood her English. Anyway, it was embarrassing and painful and I left the spa walking a little funny but it was all a part of the hip, new Cynthia, I suppose.

The magic culminated in the stylist's chair. My hair was washed and dried and swept up into one of those fancy and dramatic updo's with beautiful, flowing curls that cascaded into my face. My makeup was applied perfectly and walking back to my room, I saw my reflection in one of the full-length mirrors. I almost didn't recognize the person staring back. I stopped and stared and then smiled. I felt pretty. And in that moment, I made the decision to just go to the ceremony and have fun. It was a loose fitting peach colored strapless and sleeveless little number. The heels were a complimentary nude color, open toed and strappy. I stood in the mirror and decided to do something I had never done before. It was a magic night, once in a lifetime, right? I looked like the belle of the ball…well almost. And it was time to do something about that!

I heard the knock on the door. I wasn't expecting anyone but I opened it anyway. The figure standing in front of me was barely recognizable. Fuzzy but I could make out the tall stature in all dark colors, black, I presumed.

"Can I help you?"

"Cynthia?"

I didn't need to see. I'd know that voice anywhere.

"Punk?"

"You look…wow!"

There was a softness in his voice that gave me goosebumps.

"Um, what…what are you doing here?" I managed to ask in a shaky voice.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

I simply nodded and stepped out of the way, shutting the door behind him.

"Have a seat," I pointed towards where the couch was.

"Where are your glasses?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm not gonna wear them tonight," I tried to sound all suave and sophisticated but instead I laughed nervously and inappropriately. "You know, just thought I'd try something new."

I couldn't stop touching my big hair.

"I thought you couldn't see without them."

"I'm okay," I said, just as I tripped over the photography bag in the middle of the floor.

I hit the soft carpet with a thud, dress hiking up my thighs and it skinned my knee in the process. I tried to get up and the instability of high heels made me clumsily land against the bed, twisting my ankle in the process. In 36 hours, I had managed to have the two most humiliating experiences of my life in front of Phillip Brooks.

"Could have fooled me," he chuckled sarcastically.

I felt two strong arms pull me up into a safe and sitting position on the bed.

"Thanks," I managed to mumble.

He stepped away and returned quickly, putting something in my hand. It was my glasses. I thankfully and hurriedly put them on.

"You okay there, Chief?"

He was sitting next to me and for the first time I got a good look at his black suit. Phil was always a good-looking guy. His punk persona sometimes gave the impression that he was grungy but any woman who had ever looked into those eyes up close could testify that there was a rugged and worn and intense handsomeness about him.

"Yeah," I chewed the lipstick off my lip.

"You probably shouldn't leave home without those things tonight…or any other night, for that matter. Not if you plan on returning in one piece."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I fidgeted, wrapping my arms around myself. "Um, you never answered my question...what are you doing here?"

He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I came to take you to the Hall of Fame."

"What?"

"You're going and I'm going. Figured we may as well go together," he smirked, paraphrasing my own words.

"But I asked you and you said no."

The hurt was not lost in my voice. Neither was the hint of anger.

"Yeah…that was, hell, I don't know what it was. You just kind of took me off guard."

"You don't have to take me because you feel guilty…"

"I'm not. It's not that. I want to go with you, alright? If I didn't, I wouldn't be here and I think you know me well enough to know that.

I did know that much.

"Okay," I swallowed hard.

He shrugged.

"Then grab your chick bag or whatever the hell it is called and let's get out of here before we're late to this damned thing."

"Okay," I repeated.

I got up and got my stuff, heart racing, mind reeling, still trying to get over the shock, the mortification, and process everything that was going on. I had everything that I needed, grabbing the room key card last. I turned to make sure and Punk was standing so close to me that I bumped him.

"It's not a date," he said.

"Okay."

He chewed his gum.

"I'm not into labels and pressure and all that craziness. I got enough needless hassles and drama I'm dealing with."

"Okay."

He opened the door for me and we headed out.

"But for what it's worth...you look stunning tonight."

My heart literally, physically skipped a beat. He said "stunning". Not pretty or nice or cute. But stunning.

"Thanks," I grinned. "You, you too."

We made our way out in silence. A car was waiting for us. As Punk's "not a date", I was bumped up from regular entry and mediocre seat to a walk on the photography laced red carpet. I nervously trailed behind him, trying not to fall down again, trying not to make weird faces as dozens of flash bulbs went off in my eyes. We walked together and due to his on-air heel status, we were spared with a lot of the pre-show interviewing and whatnot. We took our seats and the ceremony began. The inductees were The Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels, Hacksaw Jim Duggan, Bullet Bob Armstrong, Sunny, Drew Carey, and Abdullah The Butcher.

I admit I had never watched a Wrestlemania or Hall of Fame event before. I never had a reason to. I was Corporate. My mission, my day-to-day duties, everything about my career was so far removed from what the talent did in the ring every night. But being there felt…special. Out of the corner of my eyes, I kept stealing glances at Punk. He was quiet but engaged, taking it all in. I was moved by the history and tradition of it all. It was truly and honor to be there and I could not believe he was sitting next to me.

Hours later when the last individual had been inducted and the ceremony had been brought to a close, there was one last thing on the agenda. The WWE held an after party every year. Two buses took the Superstars and Divas to the event. Their guests were allowed to attend the party but usually followed in chartered cars. Punk was able to make an exception because I was a WWE employee as well. As cliché as it was, the buses were divided according to the on-air heels and the on-air faces. Punk and I took the seat in the very back of the bus as we made the short drive to the party venue.

It was then that Beth and Barb both got a look at me with Punk. Their eyes widened from shock before narrowing with disgust. I'd have to put up with the curious stares all night but Punk seemed unbothered by it all so I tried to play it cool. Secretly I wondered what they were thinking. Probably that I wasn't good enough.

Throughout the night, Punk and I had made lots of small talk. He was in a good mood, although I could tell something was heavily weighing in on his mind. But despite that and despite his Straight Edge beliefs that meant no alcohol consumption, he sure knew how to have a good time at a party. I know he felt more relaxed and happiest when he was around his true friends, the men and women a part of his sacred and precious inner circle. But he had formed other solid relationships in that locker room. There was an unspoken code of brotherhood between them and they spent more time with each other than they did with their own family members. It was nice to see everyone letting loose and just having fun. Punk was no exception and in spite of the big day that would be just 18 hours later, he and John Cena actually closed the party down.

"Sorry…I've got to," I blushed, bending down and taking off my heels as soon as we arrived back in the hotel lobby.

"Hey, do your thing," he shrugged. "I don't get how chicks do the tall shoes, how you walk in them. Looks pretty painful."

"My feet have had better days," I conceded.

"You're gonna end up with bunions."

I wrinkled my nose and cocked my head up.

"No, I'm not. That's a mean thing to say."

"Get over yourself. Nobody cares about your ugly feet."

"You seem too. You always make fun of them. You said they were big. Called them claudhoppers."

"I did say that, didn't I? That was pretty clever," he mockingly scratched at his bearded chin.

"Well I will have you know that my feet are not big or ugly, thank you very much. You have ugly feet."

"Why were you looking at my feet, you stalker?"

We looked at each and burst out laughing as the elevator took us to my floor. I felt a little jittery when I saw that he only pushed one floor but I had no idea where his room was so I told myself to calm down.

"You have nice feet…for a guy," I mumbled as soon as the door opened on my floor.

"Thanks?" he raised an eyebrow as he let me out of the elevator first.

We ended up in front of my door and I dug intently through my purse as if finding the key card was the most important mission in the world. My hands were starting to get all weird and trembly again and I could only pray that he did not notice.

"Um, I found it," I nervously laughed.

"Good for you."

"Punk, thank you. I…I really had a good time tonight. I had a great time. It was fun, all of it. So thanks for taking me."

"You're not so bad yourself, kid. I had fun, too."

"Really?" I smiled. "I mean, I'm glad."

"What can I say? I guess I missed you. You kind of grew on me those two weeks. I'm not usually around people so close like that, especially when I don't know them."

"I missed you, too," I blurted out.

"Look, Cynthia…"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. That came out weird. Anyway, tonight was awesome. And the pictures I took of you on the road and at home are awesome. Whatever they have planned to do with them…I think it's gonna be a good thing. I think you will be pleased."

"Word on the street is they are going to do some magazine special edition on me or some shit."

"Oh."

"The way they'll probably do it is have me do some big media day surrounded by it, autograph signings and stuff…"

"Sounds nice…"

"When they do, if they do…I want you to come. We'll, you know, look at the finished project together. Hell, it's just as much your work as it is mine."

I looked into his eyes.

"I'd like that. Very much so."

Punk nodded.

"Well, I've got to get going."

"Yeah…"

"You coming tomorrow?"

"Your big match with Orton. Wouldn't miss it."

He rolled his eyes. It was just another part of a long list of frustrating aspects of his WWE career.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," I repeated. "Have a good night."

We stared at each and other and I felt like I might faint. Given my track record of awkward, clumsy, and embarrassing situations for the week, the odds that it might actually happen were pretty significant. I saw him move in and I automatically moved to give him a hug. A good night hug, right? That's how our night was to end…wasn't it?

Apparently not and my move forward clashed with his move forward and ruined what was the most romantic moment of my life. Our foreheads clanked together with a thud, causing us both to wince and say "ouch". I froze and my shoulders stiffened and Punk kind of made a face, shook his head, suppressed a smirk…then leaned in and kissed me.

It was a real kiss. And not like the one I had imagined in my head so many times. No, this one was even better. His lips were soft and his ring brushed against my lip. He kept his hand on the lower part of my face the whole time, tilting it upwards so perfectly. And the inside of his mouth tasted minty from the gum. It wasn't a "throw you against the wall and passionately tongue you down before wild monkey sex" and it wasn't a chaste kiss you'd give your grandma, either. It was…indescribable. But it was sweet and all I could do was hope I didn't ruin in with my uncoordinated tongue work. It seemed to happen in slow motion and go on forever. I closed my eyes and tried to relax and enjoy the moment I had been dreaming of for so long. I was trying to pretend that I was eating an ice cream cone on a hot summer day...though I am sure it probably came more across like a baby Wildabeast taking his first drink at a watering hole. Punk finally pulled away and I would never forget the intensity of his eyes and the way they looked at me…through me.

"It's still not a date," he smirked as he turned and walked away.

After a few seconds, or who knows, maybe a few hours, I let myself back in the room and gave way to my fainting spell as I collapsed on the other side of the door. I had the biggest, goofiest smile ever! Whatever the hell that was, it was the best non-date ever!

_**Author's Note: I try to limit the amount of author's notes on my chapters but I had to take a quick second and give a shout out to all of you. Guys, I am floored by your continued interest in this story and I thank you for hanging in there with me when I had to put it on a hold a few times. I hate to single people out because I never want it to seem like any one review or reviewer is more important than the other because that is not the case. I see the numbers and it humbles me. I am grateful for each and every Tweet, PM, e-mail, signed review, guest review, and new number from the non-reviewers. But with that said, can I please take the time to thank Brandi (who is such a talented writer herself and who always supports every chapter and story I write with enthusiasm), Amy (my date for this year's Wrestlemania and Hall of Fame...she was my second choice, after Dean Ambrose, lol, but she keeps me sane in real life and is an AWESOME friend) and Clare (whose feedback just makes me smile and makes me feel like somehow she just "gets" all of this). I assure you this is not the end, I just had to ramble a bit. More updates to come soon! : )**_


	20. Trying Something New

A whole month had passed and life had gone back to the chaotic hustle and bustle it had been since before Brian Kalinowski had turned my life upside down. Wrestlemania week, a huge success, had culminated and everyone had returned to their normal routine. Me included. Most of my career focus had turned to partnering with the merchandising department. Digital Media and Merchandising worked hand in hand and WWE merch sales were at an all time high.

My career wasn't the only thing going well. My personal life was looking up also. On the road with CM Punk, I had fallen head over heels with his closely related alter ego, Phillip Jack Brooks. I had managed to stay professional, tried to keep it all a secret and it had all somehow blown up in my red face on the way to Atlanta. But just as quickly as it had turned south, an unexpected trail of events had turned my frown upside down. Punk had shown up to my hotel room to take me to the Hall of Fame…after turning down flat my request 36 hours prior.

It had been a magical night for me. A talented stylist had waved a magic wand and turned me into the belle of the ball. I felt beautiful for the first time ever. I was with my dream guy, celebrating the pinnacle of what our company stood for. He said it wasn't a date but it sure felt like it was. No, he didn't hold my hand or dance with me at the after party but we talked and he was attentive and he complimented my appearance several times throughout the evening. And when it ended in a good night kiss…my breath was taken away permanently.

That moment replayed in my head over and over. How could it not? I could still see the look in his eyes, the tender way in which he tilted my chin upwards, the expert way his soft tongue probed the inside of my mouth. I wasn't expecting it. I certainly was not prepared for it. I had only been kissed by two guys in my life. One was just a friend, a nerdy comic book reading science freak who couldn't get a girl to go out with him if he paid her all the money in the world. The boys weren't exactly beating down my door in high school either. I guess we both wanted to know what it felt like so one time in my grandparents' basement, we just went for it. Awkward. Wet. Messy. Weird. Yeah, that kind of sums it up.

Then there was my college boyfriend, Joe. We dated for a little over year. He was a great guy. Really kind and smart. He was the first person I felt like really understood me. He didn't think I was weird. He liked my company. And he thought I was pretty. I liked being in a relationship, holding someone's hand…being called someone's girlfriend. What person doesn't crave love and attention and affection? Joe and I had a good run until his brother was killed tragically in a car accident the summer before our senior year. He was devastated. It changed him. He never got over it. I tried my hardest to be there for him, to do whatever was needed to help but it wasn't enough. Our relationship could not survive his grief. And I had been alone ever since.

So not being kissed for years is a lot like never being kissed at all. No, it's not like riding a bike. Unless you get back on the bike and forget how to balance and you're weaving all over the road, then end up flat on your butt. If that is the case, then okay. It was just like riding a bike. Here I was kissing Phil Brooks. I had my shoes in one hand and honestly couldn't figure out where to put the other arm. Did it go on his shoulder or the back of his neck or his waist? And I couldn't figure out how to move my tongue. I hope I hadn't screwed it up too much but he didn't complain. Not that night or after.

I was surprised when he texted me four days later. That night was so special for me that I would have been fine just holding on to the memory forever. I didn't know if I would ever hear from Punk again. But it started with a casual text. I responded and so did he and so forth and back and forth. The lines of communication just seemed to flow for us. He wasn't much of a telephone talker though we did have a few conversations that way. But when he was riding with Kofi from city to city late night after shows or even when he had a rare few days back in Chicago, we'd spend hours at a time texting with each other. We talked about the events of our day, we talked about events happening in the news, and he talked more and more about his growing frustration with the WWE.

As planned, the WWE did print a glossy full special edition magazine dedicated to the history of CM Punk. The story focused on his WWE career, while the pictures provided a deeper insight into his personal life, the man behind the moniker. My pictures. The ones I had taken during our 14 days together. They had been assembled into an impressive collection. I had been directly credited as the photographer and Mr. Kalinowski had even asked me to write a brief dedication that would be added in the liner notes. The magazine would be on sale everywhere but the week before on a Tuesday afternoon, Punk flew to New York City to do press, media, and an autograph signing for the magazine. It was part of my professional itinerary to be there but just like he had promised that late Saturday night in Atlanta some five weeks before, he wanted us to see the final edited work. Together.

I was super excited to see him again.

I got to the venue first. I wore a simple oversized white blouse with black leggings and flats. I wore my glasses and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, only wearing lip gloss and a light coat of mascara. The outfit I had planned to wear was a pretty floral printed sundress with platform heels and I was going to get my hair and make up professionally done. At the last minute, I decided not to. All that frilly stuff wasn't me and I think Punk knew that.

"Cynthia?"

My heart fluttered as I slowly turned around. It was him.

"Punk," I grinned.

We had about an hour before the official event was to start and there we were standing alone by the autograph table. He was dressed in typical Punk/Phil attire…jeans, socks and sneakers, a Bake and Destroy tee shirt covered by a gray pullover hoodie and a hat. I stood there, hands folded, for a few seconds trying to figure out how the next minute or so was supposed to go. Would we kiss again? Hug? Shake hands? Our interactions since Wrestlemania had just been that. There was no spoken word or undertone of romance or that we were going to be in a relationship. I had no idea where we stood but I was just happy to be back in his life.

"Good to see you, kiddo," he reached over and hugged me.

I blew out a sigh of relief.

"You too."

I don't know if it was my imagination but it felt like he held me longer, tighter than usual.

"So this is it, huh?" he looked around.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I, uh, brought the portfolio and the magazine, if you want to see it before everything gets started."

"Sure."

I pulled it out of my satchel and took a seat as he stood over me. I opened and studied his face as he turned the pages. His eyes widened a little bit…I could tell that he was interested, that he liked what he saw.

"So? What do you think?" I asked when he was finished.

Punk shrugged.

"Looks great. You did a good job, Cynthia."

"You really like it?"

"Yeah. You're a good photographer. I mean that. You even made the bags under my eyes look sexy," he joked.

"Thank you."

"Did they credit you?" he asked, flipping through the pages.

"Yeah, um…"

I stopped short. They had credited me as promised in the notes and also as promised, I had written the dedication. I knew he would see it. I wanted him to see it but in that moment, I wasn't quite ready for him to see it and actually read it in front of me.

"Oh here it is…"

His voice trailed off. I bit my lip. I knew he was reading it, reading my words…

_For the man, the legend, the enigma known as CM Punk. This is just as much for you as it was to and about you. Thank you for comic books and cops and ghosts and bike rides and mostly for showing me to smile. Your hospitality in an undesirable situation will never be forgotten. I had the time of my life and the fingerprints of your strength and nobility will leave a lasting impression on my life. –Cynthia_

When he was done, he looked right up at me.

"Punk…"

"You wrote that?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Did you mean it?"

I swallowed hard.

"With all my heart."

He closed the magazine and walked a few feet away, beginning to pace, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his chin.

"Cynthia, look…I don't know how to do this, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean, I'm a wrestler. That's what I do. That is all I ever wanted to do. It takes up my whole life and that's just the way it is."

"I know."

"I don't have time to worry about birthdays and anniversaries and date nights and all that other normal boyfriend stuff because I don't put anything before my career."

"I know."

"I make a way better friend than boyfriend. I don't want you to end up hating me later."

"I wouldn't. I never could."

"And I am always on the road, you know that. When I'm not wrestling, I am training or traveling or doing some media crap like this."

"I know."

"It's just easier with girls who are in the business, actually on the road. They get it. Because you have to work at Corporate, it's not like you could leave Stamford. And I love Chicago. That's my city, my home. I don't get to go there as nearly as often as I'd like to but there is no way I would ever leave it on a permanent basis."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

Punk shook his head.

"You are a nice girl. I mean, really nice. I've never meant anyone like you before. It's like you're so innocent. And don't get your panties in a wad and freak out on me because that's not an insult. It's a good thing. But yeah, it weirds me out because I feel the need to protect you and make sure you won't be hurt. I feel like I should be protecting you from guys like me."

I was touched by his honesty.

"So is that, you know, why you said no at first?"

He immediately knew what I was talking about.

"Yeah. That's why I said no on the phone to the Hall of Fame. Because I knew that it was more to it than that and I didn't know if I was ready, wasn't even sure if I wanted to."

"What...what about now?"

"Cynthia…"

"I am who I am, Punk. You got to know the real me. That's who I was those two weeks with you, it's who I am right now standing in front of you, and it is who I will be two weeks, two months, two years from now. I, I have feelings for you. It's so hard to say that. It's scary. I, I…I don't want you to think I'm stupid. And I don't want you to think I am boring or ugly or weird. Listen, Punk, I know I am not athletic like Beth or super beautiful and sexy like Barbara. All I can give is this…me…what you know, what you've seen. I fell for you. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. Maybe it wasn't professional. Maybe it was too soon. But it happened and it was real for me and…"

I was suddenly silenced. With a kiss.

"Will you ever stop being a pain in my ass?" he smirked.

I bit my lip.

"Probably not."

He chuckled.

"You're a cool chick. And I dig you. A lot. I can't make promises. I have no idea how we're gonna try to work this out. It is not going to be easy. But I'll try."

All I could do was nod. He was so perfect. It was so perfect. And as he leaned in and kissed me again, all I could do was imagine how many more perfect moments we would have together.


	21. So Easy, A Cavewoman Could Do It

It was another busy yet normal day inside the Stamford Corporate office. I checked my schedule of upcoming meetings for the next week. I always meticulously had my digital calendar arranged so that no meeting, no seminar, no appointment or luncheon would be missed. A date one week away happened to catch my eye and make me grin. Partially due to the huge red heart, I had digitally drawn around it. It had nothing to do with work. It was when Punk had two days off and he would be coming to Stamford to visit me.

It had been six whole weeks since we had agreed to give official couple status a try. After a few kisses, I had watched him do the press gig and grinned like a Cheshire cat when he gave a special shout out to the photographer. He didn't have much time in New York that day, long enough for us to have dinner. The funny thing is, I was still nervous around him. I meant, I was comfortable but he gave me butterflies and probably always would. That evening at dinner, much hadn't changed. We still talked about everything. We laughed. Sometimes I annoyed him. Sometimes he teased me. But there was something different about the way we looked at each other. It was sweet…the way a boyfriend looks at his girlfriend and vice versa. He wasn't terribly publicly affectionate but at the end of the meal, he did let his fingers graze over mine as he studied my tattoo. When our fingers interlocked, I thought I might die.

Neither one of us knew what the future would bring, but he did make good on his promise. He did make an effort. In six weeks, we had managed to see each other three times, in addition to daily phone and text conversations as well as the occasional Skype. Once, the WWE had done back to back house shows in Jersey and Philly so I had been able to drive down to see those. The second time he had been able to spend a few hours with me due to a layover on a flight to Boston. The third had been when he'd had a meeting at Corporate. Our times together had been short but we had cherished them and made the most of it. Now he was coming to visit and for a whole 48 hours, he would be mine.

Leaning back in my chair, I realized my schedule for the rest of the day was pretty relaxed. Lunchtime was approaching and I was getting hungry. I had some Greek Yogurt and granola left over in the personal mini fridge in my office. I stood up to go grab it when I noticed that I had an incoming call on the office phone. The single ring tone alerted me that it was internal. Reaching over, I grabbed it.

"Cynthia McKenzie speaking, may I help you?"

"Hello Cynthia. This is Mr. McMahon's secretary, Ellen."

I made a face. I knew who Ellen was. I was wondering why she was calling me.

"Hi Ellen. What can I do for you?"

"I am calling on behalf of Mr. McMahon. He just arrived in the office. This will be the only day he will be in this week. After that, he is scheduled to go out on the road…"

"Okay…"

"He wishes to see you before he leaves this afternoon."

My eyes widened. That was an unusual request. Why on earth would Vince McMahon want to see me?

"Um, sure. Of course. Whenever is good with him."

"The sooner the better. Are you available now?"

Rumbling tummies, yogurt, and granola would just have to wait. When Vince McMahon came calling, everything else got put on the back burner.

"Yes. I could be up in 15 minutes."

"Thank you. I will let him know."

I used the next 10 or so minutes to gather my thoughts and try to figure out what was going on. I checked my appearance to make sure I was neat and presentable and with one last deep breath, took the elevator to the top floor, where the executive offices were located. Ellen was waiting when I got off.

"Hi," I nervously smiled.

"He is expecting you," she showed me to the large open door.

It was like going to see Oz. Everybody knew McMahon was the Great and Powerful but hardly anyone, especially on my level, had seen the inside of his personal office.

"Hello Mr. McMahon," I cleared my throat. "You, you wanted to see me, sir?"

In sheer dramatic fashion, the plush leather chair was turned away from me facing the magnificent view of the city. He slowly and methodically swiveled to face me. His dark hair was speckled with gray and muscles bulged against the designer suit. He grinned, that same smile that was normally reserved for the WWE audience.

"Yes. Miss McKenzie, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule."

"Anytime," I nodded.

He stood and extended his hand, which I shook.

"Please close the door behind you."

"Sure."

I swallowed hard and did what I was told before turning and walking towards the chair.

"Have a seat, make yourself comfortable," he commanded, and did the gentlemanly thing and let me sit first.

"Thank you."

"First of all, let me start by commending you on the impeccable job you have been doing for this company the last…what is it, going on two years now? And especially in the last few months. I don't have to tell you that the CM Punk commemorative special edition magazine was a top seller."

"Yes sir."

"That could not have been accomplished without your exquisite picture taking."

"Again, thank you, Mr. McMahon. That kind of compliment coming from you…well, it's an honor. There are no words. Really."

"Miss McKenzie…may I call you Cynthia?" he leaned back in his chair and smirked.

"Of course."

"Very well. Cynthia. I suppose you are wondering what this little impromptu meeting is all about?"

I nervously smiled.

"Well…yes."

"I will cut right to the chase and keep you waiting no longer. Are you aware of the recent meeting I had with Punk aka Mr. Brooks?"

"Yes."

"I see. Did he tell you the reason for that meeting or better yet, what may have transpired behind the closed doors?"

I shook my head.

"No sir."

I was telling the truth. Punk was less than thrilled about the meeting and it wasn't unheard of for talent to have to travel to Stamford for all different kinds of meetings. He didn't elaborate and I did not inquire further. We had better things to talk about.

"I only ask you that because of…how shall I word this…how _close _you two have gotten."

"I, I don't think I follow…"

He laughed that trademark laugh of his.

"The two weeks living together, the Hall of Fame, your dedication to him, the fact that you have been seen together since…is it safe to assume that you are his girlfriend?"

I guess I was but we hadn't actually spoken those words or put a label on it though the meaning was more than implied. Punk hated labels.

"Yes…I mean, I don't know how to really say it. We are, we, I mean we're seeing each other. It's not serious. I mean, I'm not saying that it's not serious. We are just taking it slow and seeing how things go. For now."

I was so uncomfortable.

"I see," he repeated.

I felt the need to explain.

"Mr. McMahon, I just want you to know that nothing romantic happened during the two week assignment. Phil was a gentleman and I was professional. We did get to know each other and afterwards things happened but only after. I swear."

"No need to explain. That is not my concern. And Brooks does have a way with the ladies. Son of a gun. He always did."

That last statement struck a nerve.

"I'm sorry, I just don't understand what you're trying to say?"

"Punk's contract expires July 16th of this year, prior to the Money in the Bank pay per view. He has not re-signed and has managed for the last six months or so, to weasel his way out of every meeting discussing contract renewal negotiations. I am a busy man and therefore do not have time for your little boyfriend's shenanigans nor do I have the energy and effort to chase him around backstage. Tell me, Cynthia…do you believe a man of my stature should have to resort to such tactics?"

"No sir," I squirmed in my seat.

"We're on the same page then," he grinned. "I like you."

"Thanks," I replied meekly.

"I arranged a mandatory personal meeting, man to man, just the two of us. He showed, as you know. We discussed. He griped. He refused every offer I put on the table for him. And there were lucrative offers, far more than he deserved, if you want to get to the true nitty gritty of the matter."

"I, I didn't know any of that. I'm sorry to hear that."

I knew Punk was frustrated. I knew he was pissed but not that pissed. I knew he was holding out but it never actually occurred to me what would happen if he flat out did not sign. And July was fast approaching.

"I am sorry, too. I don't have a problem with him even though he has been a thorn in my side since the moment he sauntered into my company. Bottom line, I want him to sign. As much as I hate to admit it, I need him to re-sign. And that is where you come in. Tell me, what do I have to do?"

Vince McMahon was actually asking me for help.

"I don't know…"

"Oh, I think you do."

"With all due respect, I really don't feel comfortable discussing Punk with you like this. I know he wouldn't like it and it really isn't my place."

"I need your help. There is no malicious or underhanded intent here. I am trying to help your boyfriend, Cynthia."

"But…"

"Help me help him."

"Sir…"

"I gave him his own damned magazine and that wasn't good enough. I have offered him more money than…"

"It's not about the money," I blurted out.

He bit his lip.

"Keep talking."

The words just tumbled out.

"Punk wants more respect in this company, the recognition he deserves. You can offer him all the money in the world but if he feels like he is selling his soul, he won't do it. If you want him to stay, you have to give him a voice."

McMahon balked at the very idea.

"Out of the question. That man is a loose cannon. He has no filter. Giving him a so-called voice in any capacity would be foolish. And dangerous."

"That's what he wants. You asked me what it would take and I just told you. That is what it will take. He just wants to be heard."

He was quiet for a few minutes.

"I tell you what. We compromise. I give him…a voice. I don't know how the hell that is supposed to work, how we go about it, how we control it but we will figure it out. I do that but he has to stay. The contract must be signed beforehand."

"He would never agree to those terms. Punk wouldn't trust it."

"Well, that's where you come in, my dear."

"What?"

"You're my little insurance policy. I want Punk. Now this snide little asshole already has me bent over a barrel but in the end, he has to, no, he will give me what I want. And I am counting on you to make that happen."

"But Mr. McMahon, I can't do that."

"Yes, you can."

"He won't listen to me."

"I think he will…"

"Sir…"

"Cynthia, think of this little task as another…assignment. You do as well as you did the last time, who knows? The sky is the limit to your career. You are a valuable asset to my corporation and we are counting on you. Is that understood?"

I could only nod my head. It was understood alright but it was still uncomfortable as hell. I had just been put in the most unenviable position possible. My boss was demanding I mix business with pleasure and use my personal relationship with one of his Superstars for company gain. It was the last thing I wanted to do. It wasn't right. It was none of my business. And if Punk knew, if he ever found out, he would be furious.


	22. Would'a, Should'a, Could'a

Most of the time it was just easier to fly into one of the bigger airports in New York so that was what Punk decided to do. I picked him up early morning from JFK. I felt nervous and giddy the whole night before and I couldn't hide my wide grin when I saw him collecting his belongings from baggage claim. To my surprise, he swooped me up in a big bear hug and swung me around. I giggled and squealed and when our eyes met, instinctively so did our lips. We kissed long and hard and I shivered when I felt his calloused fingertips softly knead at the material of my sundress.

"I'm really glad to see you," I held his hand.

"Me too," he said softly. "I missed you, kid."

We were lost in each other's eyes until the rest of the world decided to remind us that we were not alone.

"Holy shit! CM Punk! Man, can you sign this?"

A male fan wearing a vintage Hulk Hogan tee shirt barged right up to his and practically elbowed me out the way. He shoved a copy of a regular WWE magazine that had Rey Mysterio on the cover in Punk's face. He was rude and brash and didn't care that he had interrupted our moment. He was in Punk's face and his autograph request sounded more like a demand.

"Really dude?" Punk just looked at him with disgust.

The fan frowned.

"What's the problem, man? I'm a big fan."

"You're a big jerk."

"What?"

"You just walk up here and interrupt without so much as an apology or an "excuse me" barking orders like you're owed something. Look, I'm not signing anything for you and I don't appreciate you being rude to my girl. Now is not a good time and your attitude sucks," he turned back to me. "Come on, Cynthia. Let's get out of here."

I nodded and followed as we ignored the angry fan yelling a trail of obscenities after us. It put him in a bad mood temporarily but he rebounded pretty quickly. I drove us back to my apartment in Connecticut. The first thing we did was just collapse on the couch in each other's arms. He kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up as I rested my head on his chest. It was hard and firm and I was mesmerized by the steady sound of his heart beating. I had dreamed about falling asleep on that chest so many times for months. And that is exactly what we did. We had a nice but short nap. Afterwards, we grabbed some food and then came back and watched a Cubs game on television. I didn't have elaborate plans for our two days together but I was only further reminded that Punk was a simple man who enjoyed the simple pleasures in life. He was happy relaxing and just hanging out. Late into the night we played video games and when it was nearing midnight, it was evident that it was time to turn in.

"You can um, have the bed…or the couch…or whatever you want," I stammered.

Of course I had thought about sleeping arrangements prior to his visit but I had felt too silly and embarrassed to say anything. It was the first time since the initial two weeks together that it had come up where we were actually spending a night together. I stood there nervous wearing sleep shorts and a tank. I watched as Punk nodded for me to follow him in my single bedroom. He stripped down to his gym shorts. He turned back the covers and climbed in bed.

"You wanna come lay with me?" he asked.

"Yeah," I nodded with a dry mouth as I followed suit.

He wrapped an arm around me and I automatically sighed in contentment.

"You know, we don't have to do anything, if you don't want to. If you're not ready, it's cool."

I was sure he could feel my heart pounding wildly. I wanted him. My body felt the normal sexual urges, only intensified as our warm flesh touched. But when it came down to it, as lame as it sounded, I just wasn't ready.

"You won't be mad?" I asked.

He answered with a kiss and I fell asleep in his arms. It was perfect.

The next day, we awoke and cooked breakfast together. I felt happily domestic as he read the morning paper and I fixed his plate. We had no concrete agenda but he agreed when I suggested we catch the train into The City. It was fun, people watching, laughing, talking and walking around doing New York things like every other couple. He wore his hat pulled low and no one recognized him, or at least didn't bother him if they did. We arrived back in Connecticut about eight that evening and it was hard to concentrate on dinner when I knew in just a few short hours, our short time together would be over.

"Babe, you got any whole grain bread here instead of French?" Punk called out.

I stopped, bit my lip and giggled.

"Oh my God…"

"Is that a no?" he raised an eyebrow.

"No. I mean, I do have whole grain bread in the cupboard but um…you, you just called me babe."

He shook his head and just grinned.

"Women," he muttered as he took the rest of the items out to the table we had set.

"Thank you so much for coming out on your days off," I told him. "I know how important it is for you to go home to Chicago so it really means a lot that you wanted to come hang out here with me instead."

"No sweat."

"I appreciate you doing the best you can but it sucks that we don't have a lot of time together."

He shrugged.

"Just think…in a few months, we'll have all the time in the world together."

"How so?"

"I'll be unemployed."

My eyes widened.

"Punk…"

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors and they are all true. I know we talked about it on the road here and there but my mind is made up. I am not gonna re-sign."

"Are you serious?" I treaded carefully.

"As a heart attack. Look, on a scale of 1 to 10, my frustration level is at a 40."

"Where is all this coming from?" I ate a fork full of rigatoni.

"What?"

I chewed and used the time to think of my words carefully.

"I mean, I get that you are mad. But you love wrestling. This is your dream. I guess I just don't understand why you're willing to walk out on it, walk away from everything you ever wanted, what you worked so hard to build."

A stone-faced Punk took a sip of his water.

"I'll tell you why. Fuck, it is so much, I don't even know where to begin so let's start with Wrestlemania a few months ago. Mike Mizanin. Cool guy. Traveled with him. Hung out with him and his girl. I don't have anything against him personally but you better believe that it pisses me the hell off that he headlined Wrestlemania and I didn't. I don't get it. I have a lot of pride and I am the best bad guy in the company and yet again, I get passed over for another opportunity while someone else who hasn't worked nearly as hard, gets it handed to them. When's it gonna end? I'm sick of it."

"It's just one match, babe…"

"No, it's not. It's this match, it is all the opportunities Cena and Ortan continuously have. It's me winning the fucking championship and not even getting a chance to defend it, or hell, even wrestle on the next pay per view. When the fuck does that happen? It's me building solid gold with the Straight Edge Society all to have it scrapped when it could have been even more bad ass? From day one when they signed me, they had no idea what to do with me. And nobody even gives a hot fuck to try to come up with anything. I have given everything to this sport, to this company and what does it get me, Cynthia? I just keep getting shit on over and over again."

"I know it's hard."

"Do you think I want to leave WWE? Do you think I'm enjoying this, that I am playing hard ball, trying to hold out for more money?"

"No, I…"

"Truthfully, I really don't want to leave. But I can't keep hanging around if it's gonna be the same old bullshit. There needs to be some change, change for the better."

"Maybe it's coming. Maybe if you just tough it out a little more, you'll see that it is going to be okay."

He laughed out loud right in my face.

"You can be really naïve sometimes, you know that? And I don't know whether to be pissed off at you, make fun of you or think that it is cute."

"All I'm saying is that sometimes you have to play the hand that you were dealt, that's all."

"No, I don't. I don't have to play at all, Cynthia. I'm not interested anymore."

"What do you want?"

"I want to go home. Fed up is an understatement. I'm literally crossing off days on the calendar because I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. You're right…I do love this business. But what I do not like is the politics and the bullshit that comes with it. I do care because if I didn't, you know what I would do? I would sign my new contract, make a lot more money, and that would be the end of it. But it's not like that. I don't do it for the money…I'd rather have the respect, be known as that top tier guy, the leader in the locker room, performing in 30 minute matches."

I sat my fork down and tried to figure out what I was going to say and if it would even matter. I could still see Mr. McMahon's face, hear his voice.

"I, I think you should re-sign."

"I don't really care what you think…not about this."

"I don't want you to make a choice you will regret later. If you just hold on, I think it will all work out for the best, in your favor."

"You sound just like one of Vince and his stooges," he chuckled. "What? Did they pay you to come to me with this?"

I took a deep breath.

"Listen…this is very important to Mr. McMahon…"

Punk's eyes narrowed.

"What are you saying?"

"Please hear me out…"

"No. I don't need excuses or some long, drawn out speech. Just answer my question, Cynthia. What the hell is this? What is going on?"

"I…"

"You in bed with McMahon or something? Is he in your ear?"

I could see his anger rising.

"He just wanted me to talk to you."

"Why?"

"To re-sign."

Punk shook his head in disbelief and stood up so fast that he nearly toppled the table over.

"Son of a fucking bitch! Is that what this is all about?"

"Baby, wait," I tried to walk over to him.

He recoiled and jerked away from my touch.

"No! Get your goddamned hands off me! Was this shit a set up?"

"No…"

"Is that it? Is that you why were sent to do the shoot so you could trick me into some kind of friendship or relationship and then try to trick me into negotiating a goddamn contract?"

This had spun out of control and was going far worse than I ever could have imagined.

"What? No! Oh Punk, God no. It, it isn't like that, trust me."

"Trust you? I think I already made that mistake."

"Please don't be mad at me. It isn't what you think, okay? I mean, yeah, you know, you knew that the whole point of getting the photos was to do something like the special edition magazine, in hopes that would butter you up. You figured that out from the jump. But I wasn't a part of that. It was no elaborate plan and I never set out to trick you or manipulate you. Everything I feel for you…that, that is real. But yes they want you to re-sign so Mr. McMahon pulled me in his office last week and…"

"He asked you to get me to negotiate?"

"Punk…"

"Yes or no?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"I'm fucking out of here!" he immediately went for his bags.

"No, don't go!" I begged.

"Cynthia, get out of my way. Now."

The tears started to spill.

"Please can we just…can we talk about this?"

"I let you in, against every fiber of my being and better judgment, I allowed my self to have feelings for you, real feelings…I trusted you, confided in you and you let Vince McMahon use you, use our personal, private relationship to affect business? What is there to talk about? Really Cynthia?"

"Punk…"

"You know, I don't put this kind of thing past him. He is all about business and making a dollar and getting his way comes at any cost. That's how he got all the money and power that he has now. Shit like that? That's the kind of card you expect that asshole to pull. But you? I expected more, like loyalty to me and some personal integrity. But uh, I guess the joke is on me."

His words hit like a fist. I was crying so hard I could barely breathe.

"Don't go."

"Why?" he asked coldly.

The words I had been dying to say, the ones I had been feeling for so long, finally tumbled out.

"Because I love you," I managed to choke out.

He gave me an evil stare and just laughed bitterly.

"You don't love me, Cynthia. You don't even fucking know me."

"Punk, just…Please."

"I'm out of here. I am gonna call a cab and wait for it outside. Don't try to contact me. We're fucking done."

He closed the door and that is exactly what he did. My heart was broken. I'd had an awful feeling ever since my meeting with Mr. McMahon. I knew it was wrong, that was why I felt so uncomfortable. I should have said no. I should have come clean to Punk. I should have minded my own business. But I didn't. And now I knew I was going to regret it forever.


	23. Second Chances

It had officially been the worst week ever! My romantic 48 hours with my boyfriend had been cut short and when all was said and done, I had no more boyfriend. Punk was refusing to talk to me. He didn't contact me and my e-mails, attempted Skype log-ons, and calls and texts to his cell phone went ignored. When I called the house during times I was sure he would be home, some woman always answered and said he wasn't available. I was devastated.

Work wasn't going much better. In Mr. McMahon's eyes, I had failed an important mission. He had no use for losers…professional or personal. The disappointment was evident from both he and Mr. Kalinowksi. I hated the fact that they were mad at me but the bright side was, since they considered me such a miserable failure, it was considered highly unlikely that they would ever ask me to do something like that again. That is, if I still had a job.

The worst part was having Punk so mad at me. Trust meant everything to him. His heart and his world was so guarded. Outsiders rarely infiltrated. He had let me in and I had let him down. I saw it as a misunderstanding. He saw it as betrayal. I had hurt him deeply and that hurt had manifested into anger. He said we were done. The tone of his voice and the fact that he had basically cut me out of his life, proved that he meant what he had said. For ten whole days I let it go, praying in vain that he would somehow have a change of heart. On Day 11 when I still hadn't heard from him, I decided to take matters into my own hands. In the most impetuous move of my life, I drove to the airport with just the clothes on my back and booked a ticket straight to Chicago.

My thoughts raced the entire flight and my heart pounded on the cab ride over to his building, once I landed safely at O'Hare. Punk was known for sticking to his guns. It was highly likely that without a hint of emotion, pity, guilt, or remorse, he would tell me to go kick rocks barefoot. Still it was a chance I had to take. My emotions were out of control, fear and determination leading the way. I paid the driver and got out and took the elevator to his floor. The memories of our two weeks together were everywhere. When I stepped out, it was everything I had not to throw up all over the floor. Instead, I knocked on the door and hoped.

"Can I help you?"

The woman on the other side had long brown hair and was wearing shorts and a tank top. Judging by her bare feet and mid-western accent, it was obvious that she belonged there, that she was a regular. Punk had lots of platonic female friends at home and I had met none of them. But I recognized the pretty face in front of me from dozens of pictures.

"Chaleen, right? You, you're Chaleen?"

"Yeah?" she popped her gum.

Like brother like sister.

"Hi. Um, it, it's nice to meet you. I heard a lot about you. My name is…"

"You must be Cynthia," she cut me off.

I sighed.

"Yeah."

It was hard to read her face.

"My brother doesn't know you're coming, does he?" she folded her arms.

I shook my head sadly.

"Your brother won't even talk to me."

She looked around and rolled her eyes before finally stepping aside to make way for me to come in.

"Look, you really hurt him and I don't like that. It's none of my business and he's a grown man but…I have to respect anyone who flies halfway across the country to plead their case…especially when the odds are that they're gonna have a door slammed in their face," she shot it to me straight. "But um…it won't be me slamming it. Now my brother? I can't make any promises on that one but he's uh…in his room."

She disappeared into one of the other bedrooms and I approached his room carefully and knocked gently.

"Chaleen?" he called out.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

"No," I said softly. "It's me."

He looked less than thrilled to see me.

"What are you doing here?"

"You wouldn't talk to me."

"You shouldn't have come, Cynthia," he brushed past me and walked into the kitchen. "You wasted your time and your money."

Pespi was lazily stretched out in the hallway. I stepped over him as I followed Punk. He knew I was standing there but he chose to keep ignoring me. I expected as much but I did not come all that way to give up so easily. I was in love with him. At that moment, all I wanted was to reach out to him…touch him and have him touch me back. I called out his name but even standing in the flesh just a few feet away, he did not respond. I walked up to him and put my smaller arms around him. He did not respond, except his body tensing visibly. I couldn't let go. I was crying out to him and all I could do was kiss him. I placed tiny kisses on his bare back, his shoulder blades, the back of his neck and arms.

"Baby, I am so sorry," I whispered. "I know I hurt you and I'm sorry. I never meant to. But you have to know what really happened. I didn't use you and you have to believe that. When I met you for the two weeks to do the photos…it was just that, just a job. There was no plan. I wasn't tricking you. That was just 100 percent of me…being me and doing my job…and falling in love with you. The week before you flew out, Mr. McMahon called me to his office and told me he needed me to get you to re-sign. He asked what you wanted, what it would take and I told him it wasn't about money…you just wanted, you want a voice. I, I know I should have told you and I don't know why I didn't. But he swore to me, he would give it to you, give you what you wanted. So I thought I was doing a good thing. I was but it all came out wrong. But I am so sorry and I would do anything to have you forgive me. Please. Punk. Phil…"

He was silent and I kept kissing him, kept crying, kept pleading. His body never relaxed. He let out a pent up breath and put both hands on the counter top. Finally he turned around. I looked up at him and our eyes met. I cupped his bearded face with both hands and he just stared at me. I stood on the tips of my toes and let my lips brush across his. Punk closed his eyes. I kept kissing, tasting mostly my own tears. He tried to turn his head but my grip was locked like his Anaconda Vice. But his rejection, his steadfast refusal to kiss me back, was killing me.

"That's not gonna work, Cynthia."

My heart nearly fell right out of my chest in that moment. It was a sickening feeling, like not being able to breathe...like having the wind knocked right out of you, body and soul after being punched in the gut.

"I, I just couldn't stay away, you know? I was wrong but I had to explain, to, to apologize. And like I said, I know I messed up but I promise you my intentions were good, my heart was always in the right place. And I don't want you to be mad but you...you're gonna get what you want, what you always wanted. A voice. Vince McMahon thinks by giving you that, that you'll be so happy that you automatically want to sign. And that may happen...who knows, but even if it doesn't, it doesn't matter. You can still leave on your terms and you still will have had the chance to say what you wanted to say to the world."

"A voice? What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. I guess it gives you a chance to say everything you think and feel to whatever audience you choose."

Punk laughed out loud.

"He doesn't have the balls. The pipebomb I would release on his ass…it just might blow the roof off."

"Then go for it. Say what you have to say. You deserve to be heard and they owe you that much."

"So on my terms...I can cut a promo on live TV, Monday Night RAW and air every grievance I have ever had and Vince McMahon is just gonna be okay with that?"

"Yes."

He shook his head and chuckled sarcastically.

"You know, Cynthia, I thought you were a lot smarter than that."

"He is desperate. He had to be. Look how low he stooped, coming to me. You have the upper hand in all this. And now, like you said, you, you don't have to play the game anymore. Here is your chance to change it."

Punk was quiet for a moment, seemingly in deep thought.

"You're right," he said after a few minutes.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"See? I knew it would all work out. I knew..."

"You're right, I do have the upper hand and I do have the chance to change the game. So um...I am gonna play Vinnie Mac at his own little bullshit game and I am gonna beat him at it. I am gonna cut the promo in two weeks at the RAW in Vegas. And three weeks after that, I am gonna split."

"Whatever you want. I, I just want you to be happy."

"You were right about something else."

I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Vince did stoop pretty low. Again, that is no surprise. The real shocker is that you got down just as low and dirty as he did."

"But..."

He laughed at me.

"You honestly thought flying halfway across the country would solve everything? Make me forgive you? Bring us back together somehow?"

"Punk..."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Please..."

"I'll take the damn promo but don't you ever think for a second that you did me some sort of favor. What you did was go behind my back. You betrayed me. You planted a seed of doubt in my head and in my heart. What am I supposed to do with that now? Cynthia, doubt fucks everything. And now it doesn't matter how much I care about you. Alls that matters is, I can't trust you."

He said it and I knew he meant it. It was written all over his face, so evident in his eyes. We were done. My actions were considered unforgivable.

"I'm sorry," I managed to whisper, nearly choking on a sob.

He opened the fridge and grabbed a diet soda.

"You know your way out," he turned his back, headed back to his bedroom and shut the door.

I put my head in my hands and just cried softly to myself.

"You okay?"

I looked up. It was Chaleen.

"I, um...I'm just gonna go..."

"I know. I heard. Didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything..."

I wiped my eyes.

"Pretty stupid move, huh?"

"Do you really care about my brother?"

I didn't miss a beat.

"I love your brother, Chaleen. I love him with all my heart."

She nodded.

"Then it wasn't stupid. People make mistakes and you messed up."

"Big time. I, I wish I could just take it all back," I tried to explain, fighting back sobs. "I...I never meant for this to happen."

"I know you didn't."

"He'll never forgive me..."

"I don't know. Phil's a good guy. His heart is just hardened. A lot of people in his life have dicked him over."

"Now he thinks I am one of them."

"He's pissed. And hurt. Look, I can't make any promises and it really is none of my business but my advice? Just give him some time, some space. Phil is stubborn."

I bit my lip.

"Thank you."

I appreciated her being so nice.

"No sweat. You, um...you gonna be okay? I mean, what are you gonna do now?"

I shrugged.

"Go back home," I guess.

What could I do? It was hard to even think. The dull pain in my heart superseded every other feeling. I said my good byes to Chaleen and in essence Chicago and CM Punk/Phil Brooks. My heart was absolutely broken. Sometimes you just don't get that second chance.


	24. A Promise Is A Promise

I had never been to Las Vegas before. I'd never really had a reason to go. I don't gamble and let's face it, what on earth could a girl like me possibly do in a place nicknamed Sin City? But I had marked the date on my mental calendar ever since my now ex boyfriend, CM Punk, Phil Brooks had mentioned that he was going to address the WWE Universe there. My attempts at amends, my heartfelt trek from Connecticut to Illinois had meant absolutely nothing to him. He had said we were done and he had meant it. Thinking I would never see him again was devastating. I knew I couldn't change his mind but something inside told me that Vegas was going to be epic. Even if he didn't want me there, even if he wouldn't look my way, I knew I had to be there for it, for him.

I had gotten into town about three in the morning. I fell asleep just as the sun rose but it only lasted a few hours. I headed over to the arena around lunchtime. Mr. McMahon was among the first to arrive. He almost never misses a RAW event. The crew was there as well and little by little, the talent and other executives slowly started to filter in. I hung around, blending into the background. Some people thought I was some kid who had managed to get backstage but for the most part, pretty much everyone recognized from my previous stint on the road.

It was to be the big night. Punk had been given the green light to cut his promo. There wasn't a lot of instructions. He was basically on a countdown. Fed up and tired, he was leaving no matter what and everyone in the company was very much aware of that. But Mr. McMahon himself had told me that he would give Punk what he had always wanted…a voice. I was holding him to his word.

My heart fluttered when I saw Punk walk into the arena. He did not see me. He looked liberated and relaxed. I knew it was to be his second to last RAW…ever. All that was known was that he was going to be given a live microphone to air his grievances. Everyone had accepted Punk's decision to leave and it was more than important to me that he do it on his own terms.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hayes?"

I saw his large frame and long blonde hair moving in slow motion like a Pantene commercial. Michael "P.S." Hayes was a retired professional wrestler and current head of road agents and production. He was always on the road and held a lot of clout.

"Cynthia, isn't it?" he stopped and turned.

"Yes sir."

"Ah, the little girl from Corporate who did the pictures with Punk."

"Yes sir," I repeated.

"What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak with Mr. McMahon. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Mr. McMahon?" he asked with a chuckle that was mixed with both surprise and sarcasm.

"Yes."

He cleared his throat.

"Listen, darlin', I don't think Mr. McMahon is taking any meetings today."

"But he knows what this is about."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, still not 100 percent convinced.

"Yes and it is very important."

"I'll tell you what. Why don't you fill me in on the backdrop and I will be sure to relay the message to Vince and we will take it from there."

I sighed.

"It's about Punk's promo tonight. He promised and I just wanted to make sure he keeps good on that promise."

He was looking at me like I had a set of testicles…huge ones. And I know that was what it took for someone in my position to make demands of the most important and powerful man in our industry.

"Really?"

"Yes."

I was probably overstepping my bounds on a plethora of levels. If Punk even knew I was there, he would have killed me.

"I see. Sounds like you've got this all figured out. "

"Mr. Hayes…"

"Wait right here," he told me.

I watched him disappear down the long corridor. I wrapped my arms around myself. I was full of nervous energy and suddenly overcome with a bad feeling. I waited and waited and 10 minutes later he returned.

"Did you find out?" I blurted out.

"Yes, I did."

I smiled.

"Good. I…"

"It's a no go."

"What?" my eyes widened.

"Vince changed his mind," he sated simply. "The promo has been cut and replaced with another spot."

I was flabbergasted. He couldn't.

"No! No. But he said…"

"Look, I don't know what he said to you before but alls I know is what he is saying now. And I got my info straight from the horse's mouth. The promo was originally scheduled for the end of the program but Vince is scrapping it."

"Why?" I almost cried.

"It's too risky."

"No…"

"Listen, you look like a sweet kid. I guess you and Punk are an item now and that's all fine and dandy but this here is business. I'll give you some advice…separate business from personal. Now you know your boyfriend. And I am not harping on him. I love Punk to death. I think he's great. I have also bent over backwards to do everything to make him happy so that he would stay. He won't. He refuses to play the game. I understand that. Hell, I even respect it. But I didn't make the rules, honey. I'm just a participant like everybody else. Punk is pure genius on that mic but do you know what he would say on live TV with no rules or boundaries two weeks before he leaves with absolutely nothing to lose?"

I swallowed hard.

"No, sir. I, I don't."

"Neither do I. Or anyone else. And that's where the problem lies."

I closed my eyes. I felt sick. Punk had given his all to that company and for what? They had done him wrong so many times. I couldn't let it happen. Not again.

"Does he know yet?" I fought back tears.

"Not yet."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Look, it was never set in stone and it was never that big of a deal anyway. Not a lot of people knew it was even supposed to happen in the first place and those who did never thought it would happen anyway."

Punk included.

"Oh my God…"

"I have been tasked with breaking the news. I'm gonna grab him before the show starts. Any idea where he is now?"

"No! You can't…"

"Look…"

They say life can change in a split second. And in _that _split second, truer words had never been spoken. I made a decision.

"Let me. Please, Mr. Hayes. This is going to crush him and with all due respect, you know it's wrong. They already told him he could do this. So if he has to hear the bad news, at least let him hear it from someone who cares about him. Please let him hear it from me."

He nodded, gave me a skeptical look and his eyes finally softened.

"Suit yourself."

"Thank you," I mouthed.

I turned to walk away. The odds were in my favor. Apparently, not many people knew that Punk and I were over. He was a pretty private guy, so it was not like he would go blabbing about it. And his secrecy was working in my favor. I looked at the clock. It was an hour to show time. Backstage was as crazy as ever. They had started to let the fans inside the building. It was now a numbers game…me against the clock. Timing was everything and it had to be perfect. I had a plan but the problem was, I was making it up as I went along. I had never done anything this insane in my life.

The first order of business was to mosey on over to production. They had an itinerary/script that let everyone know what was to happen and in which order for the show. I waited and sure enough, I saw Michael Hayes again talking to a PA. He ended up handing him a piece of paper before walking away. I pretended like my Blackberry was the most important thing in the world and the minute everyone had walked away from that part of the production area, I stepped over and saw two production sheets. It listed the matches, what would be happening during commercials, promos, ads, and everything in between. The two papers were identical except for one thing. One was the old sheet…the one with Punk's promo scheduled to end the show. The second was the amended version sans Punk.

I believe in doing the right thing, always have. Always thought I did. The good girl who did everything everyone always asked and expected of her. But sometimes doing the right thing was not the popular thing. In the process, you would make a lot of people mad. It was called taking a stand. So that is exactly what I did. When I was sure no one was looking, I swiped the new sheet, tucking it carefully in my pocket as I walked away.

My heart was pounding. I felt like I might be sick but there was no time. I glanced at the clock again as I remembered the words from Michael Hayes. _It was never set in stone and it was never that big of a deal anyway. Not a lot of people knew and those who did never thought it would happen anyway. _It disgusted me at the time but all of a sudden, I saw things in a new light. It actually worked to my advantage. I was the one who had been the fool. Everyone knew how shrewd Vince McMahon was. He was a businessman and a very powerful one at that. He was used to always getting what he wanted. Not many said no to him. Punk had said no. And laughed while doing it. And me. He had given me the ultimate task, one as old as time itself. Use the womanly charms to sway the decision of a man. I had thought it was less sinister and manipulative than it actually was. But I had been wrong. Dead wrong. And it didn't matter. Mr. McMahon had used me as nothing more than a pawn and I had failed him miserably. He didn't owe Punk or me anything and damned sure wasn't going to give it to us. He had lied to me and it had cost me everything.

I begin to pace. Then I stopped for a minute. I was consumed with second thoughts. What I was doing, what I was about to do was pure crazy, not to mention career suicide. I needed to think but again, there was no time. I was doing this all for Punk so I tried to imagine what he would do. Nobody had ever given him anything in his life…he'd always had to make his own way. So I bit my lip and pressed on. What would Punk do? He would not wait for someone, especially the likes of Vince McMahon, to just give him something. He would take it.

But me interfering in Punk's life is what had made him cut me out of it in the first place. Honesty was everything to him. But what I was about to do was for Punk's own good. For a split second, I thought about trying to go find Punk and tell him everything. But that would only make things worse. He might not have wanted my help but Punk sure needed it. Even if he didn't know it. And now, darn it, no, dammitt, I was mad. Somebody needed to stick it to the Chairman of the Board. And that someone was going to be me. I knew it was time to put the rest of my plan into action. I walked back over to Production and took a deep breath and summoned courage I did not know existed within me.

"Hi," I smiled warmly and with confidence as I pinned on my WWE employee badge and credentials. "Cynthia McKenzie. I work in Corporate with Digital Media. There had been a slight change in plans tonight and I have been sent to the show to oversee production."


	25. What Happens In Vegas

It was the last few minutes of the June 27th RAW broadcast. The show was scheduled to end at its normal 11:05 pm Eastern Standard Time. When the time was perfect, I had the PA summon Punk. I did not see him walk by but my attention and everyone else's diverted to the monitors. Hair slicked back, boots laced, kneepads and yellow trunks on, he confidently made his way past Gorilla and took a seat, legs crossed Indian style, microphone in hand. Inside the ring John Cena's massive body was crumpled onto a table and I told the head production guy to keep the live feed going, that we were going to go well over our time slot but that Corporate had authorized and paid for the extra time. That is standard procedure in events like that as RAW often does spill over a few minutes into USA's next show. That part is all true. The part about me getting prior authorization and being sent down to supervise that night? Yeah. Um, that was all made up.

"_John Cena, while you, you lay there hopefully as uncomfortable as you possibly can be, I want you to listen to me. I want you to digest this because before I leave in three weeks with your WWE Championship, I have a lot of things I want to get off my chest_…"

He wiped his mouth and then went to do what he did best.

"…_I don't hate you, John. I don't even dislike you. I do like you. I like you a hell of a lot more than I like most people in the back. I hate this…idea that you're the best_…"

The crowd was reacting. That was a good sign.

"…_Because you're not. I'm the best," he pointed to himself for emphasis. "I'm the best in the world. There's one thing you're better at than I am. And that's kissing Vince McMahon's ass. You're as good at kissing Vince's ass as Hulk Hogan was. I don't know if you're as good as Dwayne, though. He's a pretty good ass kisser. Always was and still is. Ooops…I'm breaking the forth wall_…"

He gave a snarky grin and waved to Stu the camera guy.

"…_I am the best wrestler in the world. I've been the best ever since day one when I walked into this company and I've been vilified and hated since that day because Paul Heyman saw something in me that nobody else wanted to admit. That's right, I'm a Paul Heyman guy. You know who else was a Paul Heyman guy? Brock Lesnar. And he split, just like I'm splitting but the biggest difference between me and Brock is I am going to leave with the WWE Championship_…"

Backstage is always one huge whirling dervish of chaos. But in one of those life changing split seconds, time, backstage stopped. Suddenly Punk had everyone's attention.

"…_I have grabbed so many of Vincent K. McMahon's imaginary brass rings that it's finally dawned on me that, they're just that, they're completely imaginary. The only thing that's real is me. And the fact that day in and day out for almost six years, I have proved to everybody in the world that I am the BEST, on this microphone, in that ring, even at commentary. Nobody can touch me! And yet, no matter how many times I prove it, I'm not on your lovely little collector cups, I'm not on the cover of the program, I'm barely promoted. I don't get to be in movies, I'm certainly not on any crappy show on the USA network. I'm not on the poster of Wrestlemania, I'm not on the signature that's produced at the start of the show…I'm not on Conan O'Brien, I'm not on Jimmy Fallon but the fact of the matter is I should be, and trust me, this isn't sour grapes but the fact that Dwayne is in the main event at Wrestlemania next year and I'm not makes me sick!_"

It was all coming out. His anger, his frustration, his disappointments. His face was red and it was at that moment that everyone started to see, that this was not your every day run of the mill promo. No, this was different. It was special. The crowd had started to take more notice and you could see them changing slowly, coming over to Punk's side just like when the Russians began to cheer for Rocky when he was fighting Drago. Even John Cena had forgotten that he was practically dead on the table. He had sat up and taken interest.

"…_Oh hey, let, let me get something straight…those of you who are cheering me right now , YOU are just the biggest part of me leaving as anything else. Because you're the ones that are sipping out of those collector cups right now, you're the ones that buy those programs that my face isn't on the cover of and at five in the morning at the airport when I'm with my girl, you try to shove it in my face so you can get an autograph and try to sell it on ebay because you're too lazy to go get a real job. I'm leaving with the WWE Championship on July 17th and hell, who knows, maybe I'll go defend it in New Japan Pro Wrestling. Maybe, I'll go back to Ring of Honor…hey Colt Cabana, how you doin'?" he again turned to Stu._"

It had just gotten real and everyone knew it. It was especially real for me when he had briefly mentioned "my girl". Could he have been talking about me?

"…_The reason I am leaving is you people because after I'm gone, you're still gonna pour money into this company. I'm just a spoke on the wheel. The wheel is gonna keep turning. And I understand that. But Vince McMahon is gonna make money to spite himself. He's a millionaire who should be a billionaire. You know why he's not a billionaire? It's cause he surrounds himself with glad handing, nonsensical, douche bag yes men like John Laurenitis who is gonna tell him everything he wants to hear. And I'd like to think that maybe this company will be better after Vince McMahon's dead but the fact is, it, it's gonna get taken over by his idiotic daughter and his doofus son in law and the rest of his stupid family. Let me tell you a personal story about Vince McMahon. Alright? Here we do this whole bullying campaign_…"

I heard footsteps bounding towards our section. I looked up and saw Mr. McMahon, Mr. Hayes and Mr. Lauenitis. They were a mixture of stunned and furious.

"Goddammitt, goddammitt, cut his mic! NOW" Vince ordered.

It was done immediately. The mic was cut and Punk was pissed. He cursed. Cena looked like he did not know what to do. The crowd was in a frenzy and suddenly this inexplicable energy took over backstage. I closed my eyes. My heart was racing. Punk had definitely struck a nerve. I knew that one night, those few minutes had changed the sport of professional wrestling, the WWE and more importantly, most especially, CM Punk, forever. We were no longer together, I was no longer a part of his world but I still felt a quiet sense of pride and satisfaction. I wanted to cry. All he had ever wanted was a voice, for someone to give him a mic. And now he had one. And it was gold.

"Good job, baby," I whispered to myself as I removed my headset.

I did not have to turn around. I felt their presence surrounding me. So I stood. It was time to face the music. I had made a conscientious decision a few hours ago. In doing that, I knew there would be consequences, repercussions for my actions. And I knew it would not go over well with those above me. Looking at Mr. McMahon, I had never, ever seen rage like that before. His face was beet red, veins were popping out everywhere. He looked like he was seriously going to stroke out at any minute. But his sheer hatred for me in that instance was keeping him from dying by stroke, heart attack or anything else.

"YOU!" he pointed my way. "In my office! NOW!"

Without words, I followed the three of them to the back where Vince McMahon had setup his makeshift office inside the arena for the day. All eyes were on me and that was okay. I wasn't embarrassed. I didn't hang my head. Though I knew there was much to fear, I did not feel afraid at all. No matter what was about to happen, I was resigned. It was worth it. All of it.

"What just happened?" John Laurenitis asked as he closed the door behind us.

I stifled a laugh, which was the most inappropriate of responses. But there was something funny about it. Punk absolutely could not stand that man and had spent many an hour making me laugh as he talked about him and even impersonated him. Mr. Laurenitis had such a monotone and flat demeanor that it was almost comical. Happy, sad, excited or angry, his expression and delivery never changed. I could tell he was just as upset with me as the others but he was talking to me the same way he had said "hello" to me the night at the Corporate dinner in Atlanta during Wrestlemania week. Something about that seriously made me want to giggle.

"CM Punk stole the show," I answered honestly.

"That spot was cut. He was not supposed to go out there. Did you know…"

"Of course she knew," Hayes interrupted. "I told you, Cynthia. We went over this and I made myself crystal clear!"

"That asshole just went out there and embarrassed me and my family and this entire company! Everything I have worked for, he pulled down those ridiculous yellow trunks and took a shit on it!" McMahon as still fuming as he tore off his own suit jacket.

"Punk is insane," Hayes shook his head. "That boy ain't got a clue. No filter."

"We need to devise a plan for immediate damage control," Laurenitis offered.

"Damage control?" McMahon reared his head. "That…that was brilliant! You saw the reaction! I guran-damn-tee the Internet is exploding right now!"

"But…"

"It's good for business and that is all that matters," McMahon explained. "There is no damage control. We run with this damned thing. It's a goddamned gold mine and we are going to use it to our advantage!"

I smiled broadly.

"You see? I knew it would all be okay. Mr. McMahon, this is what I was trying to get you to see. Punk is brilliant! He just wanted his voice. Tonight was epic, life changing even. That moment was so much bigger than him, than, than all of us."

He glared at me.

"It happened and we will go on. That does not negate the fact that it was never supposed to happen in the first place! There were strict orders!" he slammed his hand down on the desk. "This is still my company and goddammitt, when I give an order, I damned well expect it to be carried out! My name is Vincent Kennedy McMahon! Now every schmuck running around back here thinks he can just do whatever the hell he wants? Oh no! Punk can leave or stay, that's a horse of another color and I will deal with his crazy ass later. But heads **will **roll for this one starting right now, starting with yours!"

He was talking to Michael Hayes.

"But, I…"

"It, it's not his fault," I spoke up, swallowing hard. "Mr. Hayes told me point blank, that the promo was off. I, I didn't think it was fair. It wasn't. So…I decided to do something about it. I lied to production and I swapped the sheet and told them I was in charge. I did what I had to do to make sure Punk got his chance. And I did it alone. Punk had nothing to do with it and neither did Production or Mr. Hayes or anyone else. It was all me. And I know I am in serious trouble and uh, that, that…it's okay, you know? I just don't want to see anyone else get in trouble."

Mr. McMahon folded his arms and smirked.

"Do you really love him that much or are the rumors true…the sex with him really is that good?"

I felt my cheeks burn.

"Sir…"

"I do not need your excuses or explanations. Your insubordination was neither cute nor noble. Frankly, it makes me sick and I have zero tolerance for it! And you have no longer have a place in my company! You are fired!"

I didn't know what I was expecting. I knew he would be mad. I knew I would get in trouble. Maybe suspension? But honestly I did not expect to actually be terminated. The finality of it resonated…hard. This was not just a job. It was a career. My career. This was something that could and probably would follow me for the rest of my life. It was devastating but I understood. I did what I had to do. And now, Vince McMahon was doing what he had to do. Though vastly different in beliefs, principals, and morals, in some ways, we were just alike.

"Thank, thank you for the opportunity," I managed.

I stood on shaky legs and somehow made it out the door. It didn't stop there. This wasn't your routine "good luck on your future endeavors" send off. They were going all out and were going to escort me out the building.

"Your badge," Michael Hayes just looked at me.

There was commotion around us and I looked over. Punk was walking towards us. Backstage was all abuzz and everyone was surrounding him as he made his way through the sea of people. Our eyes met and he looked at me with surprise. He hadn't even known I was in the building that night so my mere presence would have been shock enough. But him seeing me hand over my credentials to Michael Hayes and seeing him and John Laurenitis and a host of security walking me out caused a whole other sense of confusion.

"This is everything," I said.

"Stupid kid," Hayes admonished through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't have done that. I get why but it was still a stupid move. Wasn't worth your damned job. I, I'm just real sorry it all happened this way."

I looked him in the eye.

"I'm not," I replied honestly.

Punk was still riding high from his epic moment and the subsequent excited energy backstage but he looked confused. Then arena and WWE security together escorted me out the building. Our eyes never left each other and I watched his face fall as the wheels started turning in his brain and it all started to make sense.

_**Author's Note: Promo written in Italics credited and belongs to CM Punk with the brief exception of the mention of OC Cynthia.  
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	26. A First Time For Everything

I sat on the bed inside my hotel room. The lights and TV were not turned on but it didn't matter. The lights from the city shined brightly inside the large window. I had an amazing view and a great hotel and it struck me that it was all over. No more glamorous travel or fancy hotel rooms. I was now officially unemployed. A million panicked thoughts began racing through my brain. What would I do? How was I ever going to find another job? I knew I would be okay for money, at least for a while. I had made more than a decent living and I had managed to save a lot it. I had never been foolish or excessive when it came to finances and now, facing my current situation, that was a good thing.

My heart was still pounding. I couldn't believe what I had done…that I had been able to pull it all off. And I couldn't believe what had happened once I had gotten caught. But even more than that, what had happened to me, I couldn't stop thinking about Punk. All he had ever wanted was a voice. And when he got one, he sat down, took that mic and simply told the truth…what was weighing so heavily on his mind and in his heart. He just told the truth. Every grievance, every frustration, every gripe. And the funny thing was, if any other worker back there had had the guts or the creativity to do what Punk had done, from any other set of lips, it probably would have been just another promo. But Punk had made it special. From his lips, it was magic.

Sighing, I bit my lip. I had made a decision. My decision had consequences. I had faced the music and done it with a poignant bravery that surprised even myself. Somehow it was going to be okay. I didn't know how but at that very moment, in the moment, I knew somehow things would work out. I knew that whatever road Punk chose, and it would be his choice, not only was he going to be successful but that he would have peace of mind. And I knew that I was going to be alright too. It was risky. And some might even agree with Michael Hayes and say that it was stupid. But I had no regrets. I had done the right thing.

"Cynthia!"

I heard my name first. Then I heard the knock on the door. I thought for a second that I might be imagining it. Then it happened again, this time louder.

"Punk," I whispered as I hopped off the bed and ran to the door.

I paused for a minute, looked out the peep hole and gasped. It was him.

"Cynthia! Open up the door!"

I did. He had changed into camouflage shorts, a white tee shirt, sneakers and a hat. He looked uneasy.

"How, how did you find me?" I asked nervously.

Punk ignored me and marched right inside my room. He paced for a little while before turning to face me.

"What the hell is going on?"

I swallowed hard. I didn't even know where to begin. He was already mad at me. I didn't want to make it worse.

"You were brilliant tonight," I looked at him.

He shook his head and chuckled despite the situation.

"Are you serious, Cyn?" he asked, still laughing.

"Punk…"

"What the fuck is going on?" he pulled up a seat. "Start talking, kid. Now."

I plopped down in front of him. Our eyes met in the darkness.

"Everything I told you in Chicago was true. I was volun-told to do the photo assignment with you for two weeks. I knew just about as much as you did. There was no plot or scheme, at least one that I knew about it. And I don't even think Mr. McMahon and Mr. Kalinowski masterminded anything like that. Knowing what I know now, I honestly think they thought if they gave you the magazine, that it would be enough, that you would fold."

"Keep going…"

"During the two weeks we were together, I fell for you. I, I fell in love with you, Punk. And I didn't expect it and I didn't know how to handle it…but it happened and it was real. Just being apart of your life and talking to you and knowing you felt something too…it was beautiful, amazing. When you decided to give us a chance, it made me happy. We didn't hide it and you know word travels fast in this company so I guess at the media event in New York and the times we hung out after that, everyone pretty much knew."

He folded his arms.

"Okay."

"Mr. McMahon's secretary called me to see him a few days before you came to see me. He asked me to get you to stay. I told him I couldn't and that you would not appreciate us talking about it behind your back. He went on and on talking about money and finally I just told him that you didn't want more money…that respect and having a voice was more important than anything. At first he balked, then he agreed. He said he would give you a voice if you signed a new contract. And I, I told him that you would not agree to that so he said he would do it anyway. But he said I still had to talk to you. He…he, um, called me his 'insurance policy'. He said to think of it like another assignment."

"Son of a bitch," Punk hissed as he stood. "So he basically blackmailed you…"

"No. I mean, I, I don't know if you can call it blackmail."

"What do you call it?"

"He put me in a very awkward and uncomfortable position. I was literally between a rock and a hard place and I didn't know what to do. It was like he had all these expectations of me. There was a lot of pressure. And I was torn because I didn't want to seem disloyal to you. But I knew it wasn't right because he was using our personal relationship and though he never said it, I felt…I don't know, I guess kind of threatened. It was just weird."

"Why didn't you just tell me all of that?"

"Punk…"

He briefly looked away.

"Because I was an asshole," he muttered to himself. "I guess I kind of jumped to conclusions and didn't give you much of a chance to say anything."

I gave him a small smile.

"Pretty much."

"Fuck," he rubbed his tired eyes. "I don't know. Look, I guess I owe you an apology, Cynthia. I just thought…"

"I know what you thought and um, it's okay. I understand. And I was wrong. My intentions were always pure and maybe the naïve little me wanted to believe that Mr. McMahon had good, or at least not bad intentions. But regardless, I, I should have told you, Punk. I don't know why I didn't. I have no excuse really. I, I guess I just thought I could handle it all. I thought that if you got a voice, it would make you feel better and it would give you more control of your career and you'd be able to negotiate a contract on your terms. You would have been happy because you would have gotten what you wanted and you could have kept wrestling and Mr. McMahon would have gotten what he wanted and gotten off of both our cases."

"He's a dick for doing that. He had no right. And he also knew he could intimidate you."

"Punk…"

"You should have told me. I wish you would have."

"I know," I sighed. "Me too."

"Which leads me to tonight."

"Yeah…"

"Why did you get booted out the building?"

"Even when you broke up with me, even when I knew you didn't want to re-sign no matter what, I still thought that you should do the promo. I knew it would be good for you. And not just your career, for your soul as well. You, um, you mentioned you wanted to do it here in Vegas and I knew that you didn't want to see me but I still felt like I had to be here. So today I just showed up. I wanted to talk to Mr. McMahon, just to make sure he kept his word and um…you were right. He didn't. Probably never intended to. I didn't get to see him directly but Mr. Hayes relayed the message."

"I had been told that it was a go. I was skeptical. I know how these things work so I was basically expecting them to scrap it at the last moment. It was too good to be true."

"It was. You were right."

"So, how…"

"I couldn't let him do it, Punk. I just couldn't. All my life I have been the quiet one and the demure one and the agreeable one. Vince McMahon screwed me over, he was trying to screw you over and because of him, I felt like our relationship got ruined. And it's like he didn't even care, you know? It wasn't fair. It was a slap in the face and I knew I couldn't let it happen so I made a choice."

"What the hell did you do?"

"Mr. Hayes said the promo was off and he had to tell you but I begged him to let me. Nobody knew we weren't together so I got away with it. I swapped Production notes so everyone thought the promo was still happening and I told them that Corporate had sent me to oversee the show for the night…and um, they bought it. It, it was shocking. I was scared and I didn't think I would be able to pull it off but I did. So you went for it and you weren't supposed to, only you didn't know that. Mr. McMahon flipped out and cut it."

Punk laughed.

"He legit almost had a coronary."

"Oh yeah. He let me have it."

"Look, I know it's gonna be tough when you get back to Stamford but I know Vince. He'll get over it, trust me."

"I'm not going back, Punk."

"Why?"

"They didn't just kick me out of the building. He, he kicked me out of the company."

"What?"

"I'm out. Fired."

He just stared at me.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No."

Punk looked stunned and he stood up again.

"What the…no."

"It, it's okay."

"No, it's not okay! None of this is okay, starting from what he asked you to do."

"True. But I was wrong tonight. I, I shouldn't have done that and I knew there would be repercussions. Granted, I didn't think it would be this swift or this severe but that's the way it goes and I have no choice but to accept it."

Punk walked right over to me.

"Are you telling me the truth? I mean, about all of it."

"I would never lie to you."

"Tonight you risked…everything for me. Why?"

"Because you deserved it. And…because I love you."

He did not speak a word but his gaze was so intense it literally took my breath away. I gasped as he pulled me to my feet and his hands grabbed my sides. He kissed me with a passion I had never felt before. I wrapped my arms instinctively around his neck, only taking a breath when his lips found my neck. He lifted me off the floor and we stumbled clumsily a few feet back towards the bed. We fell back onto the bed and he stared into my eyes. Tears were starting to form in my eyes and he used his thumb to wipe the watery remnants before they could fall down my cheeks.

He looked in my eyes and I guess they said it all. He lowered his face down onto mine and he captured my lips again. His body hovered over mine, him balancing his weight carefully over mine as to not hurt me. The tears had smudged my glasses and he removed them from my face. Looking at him right then, in that moment, I needed him more than ever.

We kissed again and the tears that had once begged for forgiveness, were now giving way to cries of passion. As our kissing grew more fervent, his hands began to move in a way they never had before. They brushed all over my body. All I wanted was for him to talk to me again, give me a chance to explain my side of the story. I had gotten that. The lust that clouded his eyes told me that my poor judgment laced indiscretion had long been forgiven but it also told me something else. In that one moment, I knew my life and what was left of our relationship would change forever. We were going to make love.

I was scared. My heart was pounding. He removed my shirt, leaving me exposed in my bra. His tongue grazed across my neck, the underside of my chin, tantalizing nerve ends that I did not know existed. He sat up, leaning back on his heels, letting his thick fingers glide down my body. I couldn't remember how it used to be, what it used to feel like and in that moment, I did not care. All I knew was how much I wanted, no needed, Phil Brooks. His lips followed the path that his hands had started, making my whole body quiver. His tongue lavished a playful assault on my heated flesh, making me cry out in sheer pleasure. My breathing was now coming in radical spurts as he moved his head further down.

My mind was racing. I was worried. What if he did not like the way I felt? The way I tasted? But all my fears were quickly put on the back burner as his tongue and lips explored me expertly and I could not contain the groans and yelps coming from the back of my throat. Apparently he had no complaints. Soon he was deep inside me. I gasped, as it had been years since a man had been inside me. My body struggled against him but what we were doing was designed for a natural fit. With clenched teeth and my nails dug into his broad shoulders, my body slowly welcomed him and after the initial discomfort, we could both enjoy pure unadulterated ecstasy.

"You're so tight," he grunted in my ear.

I buried my face in his sweaty shoulder, pulling him as close to me as humanly possible as he maneuvered in and out of my body. It felt good. No, it felt great. Like my own slice of heaven. But more than the pleasure was the beauty of just being next to him. It was the most intimate of actions, the closest you could be to another human being. And I just wanted to share that with him, enjoy it with him. My mouth fell open as I felt every muscle in his large body tense. Then he released, shaking lightly before falling on top of me.

"Are you okay?" I asked, rubbing his head after a few minutes.

He nodded and rolled off of me, onto his back, but still pulling me over so that my head rested upon his damp chest. I could feel his heart beating again. I loved that sound.

"I…I'm fucking great," he caught his breath. "You?"

I nodded.

"Yeah," looking up at him. "That was amazing."

His fingertips drew circles on my back.

"Jesus, I wasn't even thinking…I got so caught up that I didn't even put on…"

"It's okay," I stopped him, knowing what he was getting at. "I'm on the Pill. It helps with my period," I babbled in a half attempt to explain that I took birth control not because I was a slut but for actual medical purposes.

He nodded and I saw the relief in his eyes.

"Good."

"I, um, I don't just do that with everybody," I kept going.

Knowing when to shut up was not my strongest character trait.

"I kind of got that. Were you…" Punk's voice stopped. "I mean, was that your first time?"

He looked right over at me. I shook my head,

"No. I had a serious boyfriend in college and we used to, you know. It's just that it has been a long time. We, um, you know, broke up years ago."

"I could tell," he joked.

Instantaneously, I felt self-conscious again.

"Did I hurt you? Was it like uncomfortable for you?" I asked, horrified.

"No. The opposite actually. It felt fucking awesome. The tighter the better. Nobody likes a loosey goosey."

I nodded. There were more important things at stake.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Yes. Look, I know you meant well. And I also know that Vince was a real cock sucker for putting you in such a weird position. That's not your fault. I just wish you had been honest with me."

"I know."

"I also wish you hadn't done what you did tonight. It was stupid and you lost your job. You put it all on the line for me."

"And I don't regret that," I nestled closer into his embrace.

"That was incredibly brave. And gutsy. Not a lot of people in my life have gone to bat for me like that. There are no words. I can't even say 'thank you', tell you what that means to me. You're a strong woman, a lot stronger than you get credit for. I guess I was wrong about you. You really do have my back. I know that now. That means I am always gonna have yours. So that means if we're gonna do this, if we are going to try to make it work, then you have to come clean with me, 100 percent, all the time."

"Okay."

"I'm serious, Cyn. Trust and loyalty mean everything to me."

I leaned up on one elbow so that we were eye level.

"I understand. You can trust me. I made a mistake before and I own that and apologize for it. I give you my word that nothing like that will ever happen again. I will always be real with you, always have your back."

He nodded and rubbed my arm.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I have no idea," I replied honestly.

"I only have a few weeks left. Maybe you could come to Chicago when I get back from the overseas tour."

"Really?"

"Yeah, if you want. Spend some real time together," he kissed my forehead. "You're a good girl, you know that? I normally don't pick those."

"There's a first time for everything, right?" I grinned.

He returned my smile.

"You got that right."

He pulled in for another kiss and I sighed, resting my exhausted head on his chest. In my heart of hearts, I knew that I had made the right decision. At least for the time being, everything was back where it was supposed to be.


	27. Keeping Score

Though at first I feared it would be the death of me, actually not having a schedule, not having to be somewhere or having an alarm clock to wake me up was just what my body and soul needed. Though, whenever I thought back to the stunt I had just pulled off and the consequences that had followed, I did get a big knot in the pit of my belly. I had never been fired before. I had never been in trouble a day in my life. But when I dared to cringe or feel even the slightest bit apologetic for my actions, all I had to do was roll over. The space next to me in bed was empty but not for long. Soon, he would be back.

Las Vegas was nothing short of surreal. My scheme had resulted in allowing one of the best to ever do it, being allowed to unleash a wrath filled truth that the fans and the WWE executives, alike needed to hear. He was going to quit…that he was adamant about and I pretty much couldn't blame him. I could sense his restlessness and every day expected him to say that he'd had it and just quit on the spot. But he was a man of his word and I respected that. Though every ounce of him dreaded it, CM Punk laced up his boots, put on his big boy rasslin' trunks and boarded a plane to fulfill his overseas tour commitment.

He was ballsy enough to actually invite me to go. Granted I had grew a pair in order to do what I did but in fact, they were still baby balls. I had no problem neutering myself and refusing to travel along with him. I was not wanted on the tour, at the arena, or any WWE event and I knew it. Being canned was bad enough but I had the rest of my career, rest of my life to think about. That meant I had to show restraint and tact.

But Punk had been serious when he had invited me to come back to Chicago and I had decided to go. At that point, I had nothing else to lose really. My job was already gone and truth be told, I had lost my heart to Phil Brooks a long time ago. The original plan had been for me to meet up with him after he got back but on a whim and totally in the moment, I had gone back to Illinois with him following the departure from Nevada. So we had left that hotel, airport bound, hand in hand. I loved, loved, loved the way my hand felt in his. It felt nice to go back to his home. The last time I had been there, pleading my case for a second chance at love, things had not gone so well. He had practically kicked me out of his room. When I had left his building devastated and a weepy mess, never in a bazillion years would I have imagined that there would be a next time. And that next time would include him making love to me over and over again until both our exhausted and pleasure filled bodies were spent.

I had been sad to see him go, as I was whenever we had to part but I took comfort in knowing that soon enough, the good byes would be less frequent. His forgiveness did not come easy and second chances were rare, all but nonexistent. He had let me back in, in more ways than one and I knew that meant something. So without a job and madly in love, my days were spent lounging away in the Windy City waiting for my heart's desire. Smile etched permanently on my face, I buried my head in the pillow that still smelled like him. I could have stayed there forever and I probably would have, too if my cell phone hadn't pulled me back to reality. I still had reason to smile though. It was Punk.

"Salut," he said cheerily from the other side of the world.

My grin grew even broader.

"Hi."

God, I had missed him.

"What are you up to, Cyn?"

_Missing you._

"Not much," I played it off. "Just hanging out."

"How is life among the 7 percent employed?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, I guess. For now. I don't know. I mean, it is nice to relax and just be. But I know I can't do this forever."

"You'll figure something out."

"I know but enough about me. What is going on with you? How is the tour?"

He sighed heavily on the line.

"It's going, you know? I've actually been pretty busy. Doing a ton of press and stuff. And I am main eventing a lot of the cards."

"Wow, Punk…that, that's so awesome."

"I am finally getting everything I wanted, Cynthia. The recognition and respect. My rightful place on the card. The guys and gals in the locker room look to me as a leader. The McMahon family is forced to admit that I'm a major player now, that I could be the face of the company."

"That promo changed everything."

"It damned sure did."

"How does it feel?"

He paused for a few seconds.

"Not as good as it would have felt, say three years ago, even one year ago."

I understood exactly what he meant.

"Your name is everywhere," I told him. "And it is mostly stuff that has nothing to do with wrestling. That promo blew up the mainstream."

"Tell me about. By the way, pack your bags because when I get back, we have to go to LA."

"What for? Look, I told you already that I really don't think it is a good idea for me to travel with you. Vince McMahon may be kissing your butt right now but he still hates my guts. I don't want to cause a scene."

"I get it and that trip isn't wrestling related. I am doing Jimmy Kimmel."

I couldn't help but smile. Even if he was still going to walk away, at least he was doing it on his terms. Like a boss and going out in a blaze of glory on top of the professional wrestling world.

"That's amazing."

"Yep."

I giggled a little bit.

"The fact that you get the opportunity is incredible but it just…"

"What?"

"You want me to go with you. That makes me happy."

"There you go being a girl again."

"Your girl?" I posed.

I was being flirty. He brought out that giddy, girly side of me but the minute I blurted that out, I instantly regretted it…until I heard his response.

"Yeah…my girl."

I melted into that pillow.

"So now what?" I sighed in absolute contentment.

"Well, as much as that promo grated Vince's goat, now with all the mainstream attention and everything that is going on, the old buzzard knows he is sitting on a goddamned gold mine. He is upping the ante, offering me insane amounts of money for a new contract, which now, mind you, includes sign on bonuses that include cash and a bunch of other perks."

"Does that make a difference to you?"

"No," he didn't miss a beat. "But…"

"But what?"

"Stephanie came to me last night. She is the lesser of the evils, along with Linda. The one person I can actually look at without wanting to spit in her face…at least for the moment."

"What did she say? What did she want?"

"The same thing they all want. Same conversation, different day, except this time, I didn't tell her to go fuck herself."

"Why not?"

"I told her, unofficially and off the record, that the only way I would even consider an extension or any kind of deal was if they agreed to give you your job back."

"Punk!" I sat straight up in bed.

"Look, don't go get all spazz on me, kid. I know how hard you work and how important your career is to you and what you have been through to get there. Quite frankly am I financially and mentally ready for early retirement? Yeah. Are you? Not so much. You need this job or at least to part ways on a semi amicable note. You're sitting in Chicago right now chilling with Pepsi and watering my plants instead of being in your office in Stamford because of a sacrifice you made. For me. I appreciate it but it's a lot to have on my shoulders. I don't want to live with that, you know?"

I suddenly had mixed feelings.

"Is that…is that why I'm here now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You feel bad or guilty or whatever that I lost my job. I mean, that's nice and all but I don't ever want you to feel like you owe me something. Because you don't. I made a choice. One that I stand by. And I love you and I know you said you want to give us a chance but if you're only doing it to make up for me being fired…"

"Cynthia, Jesus Christ, woman, sometimes I don't know whether to throttle you or hug you," he sighed into the phone. "You should know better than that, know me better than that by now. I would never be with you out of obligation or guilt. That isn't how I roll, kiddo. Never have, never will. When I am with someone, it is because I genuinely want to, because I care about them."

I closed my eyes.

"So…are you with me?" I questioned.

"You're in my house, aren't you?"

I chuckled to myself, picturing him rolling his eyes in the moment.

"Yeah…I suppose I am."

"On a personal note, you and I are solid again but professionally, I do owe you something. You know that's true."

"We're not keeping score, Punk."

"Cyn…"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything you want."

"Do you want to stay?"

"Not really?"

"I know you don't. You are super burned out but that ring is your passion. One day, some way or another, your heart will lead you back to that ring. I just don't think now is the time or place. And WWE certainly isn't the forum. So I would never ask you to sell your soul and bargain with them on my behalf. It's not right."

He took a deep breath.

"You sure? You made a big sacrifice for me when you didn't have to and if it takes me having to swallow a bit of shit to sacrifice for you, that is something I am willing to do. You proved your loyalty and nothing is more important to me than loyalty. Nothing."

"I don't want to go back. Not after the way they treated you and the way they tried to use me. I still want a career, now the challenge will be trying to figure out another way to do it."

"Alright, then that is settled. I can keep telling them to go fuck themselves. Works for me."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"I really can't wait to see you, you know that?"

"Ditto, kid. I am looking forward to home. By home, I mean my city and my place and my cat and my family and my friends. And my girl. You know, I'd love to tell you that we can jet away to some fancy vacation spot but the truth is, I am over the traveling. For a little while, I want to just be. My home is my vacation for now."

"Absolutely. Punk?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"I don't know if I already said it and if I did, it is certainly worth repeating…I am insanely proud of you. For what you said and did in Vegas and what you do every night in the ring. And just, for being you. You're an inspiration."

"That means a lot."

I knew it had and that made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It was the first page of a brand new chapter in my, his, our lives.

**Author's Note: This is not the end. More updates to come. Again, apologies. Real life is super busy and I do admit, I no longer watch wrestling. However, I have promised you guys on here and in replying to your private messages that I will finish these fics and I intend to keep my word. This also refers to the conclusion of Crushing Blows, which is a One Tree Hill fan fic I still get a lot of messages about. Thanks for your patience, understanding, and continued interest. I will wrap up the more popular stories first and then try to move on to the others. Just putting it out there that it might take a very long time because I have a lot on my plate. In the meantime, if you want to check out what I have been up to during hiatus, you can visit my profile page here for the link to my author Facebook page (or search Gooseles on FB) for exclusive updates on the release of my first self-published novel! Hope you guys give it a "like"!**


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